


rain to sea

by fallenstar



Category: Placebo
Genre: M/M, molsdal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenstar/pseuds/fallenstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Placebo are nearing the end of their worldwide Without You I'm Nothing tour. Illness and injury aren't enough to stop the lads, but could a kiss change everything?</p><p>A two day snapshot into life on the road; sex, drugs and rock'n'roll. (Plus a whole lot of twaffle in between)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer; Most of this didn't happen, and what did has been highly fictionalised.
> 
> HUGE ALL CAPS THANKS TO AFUERAS for being my test subject/cheer squad! <3

Jetlag, hangover, head-cold; Steve ticks off the boxes in his mind, considering their impact on his current appearance. He not only looks like crap, but feels it too. His body always aches toward the end of a tour; his muscles stiff and sore, joints throbbing, hands blistered. But after a year on the road, this ache was different; he pines for his flat, his friends and his family. Here he is, living the rock star dream, dressed in designer threads for a fancy photoshoot on the other side of the world. But all he wants is a pint at his local with his mates or a bedtime story with his little girl. He struggles to focus on the shoot; the balmy weather makes him sleepy. Someone is calling for him to “smoulder;” he laughs, but raises an eyebrow and pushes his lips out in an attempt to follow the instruction.

“No, no, darling; _pout_ , not _trout,_ ” the stylist calls out from behind the photographer. Steve frowns but holds his lips pursed.

“Fish lips! You’re doing _fish lips_ , show us your _kissy lips_!”

“These are my kissy lips,” Steve burbles with his mouth puckered.

He is dressed in a vintage style suit, lying on a wooden pier. Below him the waves crash and hiss; he has never seen the ocean look so blue. Above, an overcast sky hides the scorching Queensland sun; he still swelters in the humid climate.

“Raise your chin,” the stylist yells, “Act seductive, but, like, suave!”

Confusion clouds Steve’s face; he looks pleadingly to the man behind the camera. The photographer takes a step back from his tripod, appearing apologetic.

“Hey Claude, shouldn’t you be getting the other two ready?” He asks the stylist.

“I’m just trying to help you, _Darren,_ but I can tell when I’m not wanted!” The stylist replies, tossing his head dramatically.

He adjusts his sheer floral blouse and then turns around; his corduroy trousers rub together noisily as he stomps away. The photographer scoffs then turns back to Steve.

 “All done mate,” he says. Steve relaxes his face and sits up. He tears off the heavy jacket and begins to unbutton his shirt.

“Hey, slow down, we still have the group shoot to finish,” the photographer warns.

Steve jealously eyes the singlet and shorts the other man is wearing.

“Just gotta cool down a bit, I’ll put it back on when the others get over here,” he says, reassuring the photographer. He savours the feeling of the slight sea breeze on his skin.

 “Alright, just don’t give that bloody stylist an excuse to interfere again!” The photographer says, shaking his head. Steve chuckles in response.

 “Why are your mates taking so long anyway? They only had to touch up that short bloke’s makeup,” Darren asks as he begins winding back the film in his camera.

Steve snorts as he imagines Brian retouching his face furiously after sweating his foundation off, or attempting to tease his hair despite the humidity.

“They shouldn’t be long,” he offers hopefully. As if on cue, Stefan and Brian reappear from the stylist’s van at the top of the hill and begin walking back down to the pier. Claude finishes packing up the van with racks of costumes and various makeup kits, and then follows them down.

As his bandmates near, Steve stands up and calls out, “What took you two so long?”

The pair are giggling stupidly and Steve doesn't need to see their reddened eyes to know the answer to his question.

“You bastards,” he says sliding his jacket back on, “I’m out here boiling to death, and you’re up there getting stoned.” He shakes his head with mock indignation.

“Aw, Stevie!”

Brian grins up at him; his voice is scratchy, and deeper than usual. He has been battling against tonsillitis the past week, but the illness seems to have won today. Following doctor’s orders, their tour manager has already cancelled their final show with Silverchair tonight.

Brian looks up at the drummer and pulls a remorseful face, whining, “We’re sorryyy!”

“You will be,” Steve threatens jokingly and the others scoff.

“I know why you’re really upset,” Brian says, attempting a serious tone, “It’s okay, Steve. We heard about your weird fish lips.” Brian turns to Stefan, and they both crack up laughing. Steve makes ‘o’s with his mouth and Brian cackles even louder.

“Alright, can we get this done?” The photographer interrupts; he drums his fingers on his camera impatiently. The group turns to face him.

“We’re still going with the…the…theme” He looks each of them up and down. “I still don’t know what this is.”

“Gangsters,” Brian offers, and the photographer raises an eyebrow.

Brian is dressed in an all black ensemble; a vintage style silk dress, pantyhose and his own lace-up boots. He holds a parasol between hands gloved in lace and wears a little silver cross around his neck. Stefan mirrors Steve in a black suit; the stylist had insisted it was an authentic 1920s noir look. The photographer sighs, and after little deliberation, decides to go with a black and white film.

“Let’s just get this done, you two in the suits, walk him down the pier, yeah, and ham it up,” he instructs, winding the film on.

Steve and Stefan each take Brian by the arm; Brian holds his parasol elegantly behind him as they escort him. Darren snaps a few shots, and then instructs Steve and Stefan to stand back a little while Brian comes forward. The photographer tells them to “play it cool” while Brian curtsies, winks and blows kisses to the camera.

“Now _that’s_ a pout,” the stylist says with admiration. Steve and Stefan roll their eyes at each other and the shutter clicks.

“That’s it, you two, hold it!” The pair freeze and the photographer snaps a dozen shots as Brian continues to seduce the camera.

“Got it!” Darren calls, relieved.

The group relaxes and he starts packing his camera gear up. Steve is pleased that they have now completed their duties here in the Sunshine state. He had loved visiting Brisbane earlier in the year but the weather in the tropical Australian state was now intensely humid, and the summer crowds had long since left the beaches. The atmosphere is vastly different without so many tourists around, and the locals seem much more serious.

Following Brian’s visit to the doctor that morning, and the subsequent cancelation of their gig, most of the crew had opted to return to Sydney early, as a storm warning had been issued for the evening. Having only just arrived, Brian had insisted that the trio stay the night in Brisbane; he couldn’t face the thought of two plane trips in one day when he was already feeling so unwell.  The tour manager had reluctantly agreed as he had already arranged various press jobs for them; with their impending single release they needed all the good publicity possible. That morning they joined a radio station breakfast show, and then were interviewed by a national music magazine; this photoshoot would accompany the article. Steve laughs to himself as he imagines the pictures; the ridiculous photographs will spoil anything intelligent the journalist has to say.

They are staying at a hotel a little way out of the city, so the beachfront here is much less manicured than the shoreline featured in tourism adverts. Steve admires the palm trees and grass bushes growing nearby. He looks back to his bandmates; Brian’s raspy cough has Stefan looking concerned. Steve pulls off his heavy jacket and tries to hand it back to the stylist.

“Oh no,” he says firmly, waving a hand in front of his nose, “You’ll have to get your suit dry-cleaned. Once it’s clean, you can bring it back to the studio.”

“You can’t be serious,” Steve groans. Stefan has joined him, with his jacket also in hand.

“I am quite serious. Body odour is _never_ in fashion.” The stylist looks smugly at them and this angers Steve further. Stefan glances back and sees Brian flirting with the photographer; he feels strangely jealous watching the exchange. His attention returns to Steve as he throws down his jacket and slowly begins to roll up his shirt sleeves. Stefan struggles to keep a straight face watching the exchange. However, the stylist falls for the act of bravado; he gulps and takes a step back.

“F-fine,” he stammers, “I’ll take the jackets, and the trousers, y-you just need to get the shirts cleaned, okay?” Steve nods; he has to admit that the crisp white shirt he put on hours ago is now soggy and smelly.

“Alright, let’s go get changed,” he says to Stefan, grinning. “We’re going to get dressed,” he calls to Brian, and then he and Stefan follow the stylist back up to the van. Stefan glances back toward Brian on the pier and Steve says to him, “Don’t worry, plenty more in the sea, eh?”

“Huh?” Stefan thinks he might be talking about his fish face photoshoot.

“Darren, the photographer! I saw you watching him,” Steve says knowingly. Stefan glances back down the hill and notes with some relief his awkward rejection of Brian’s advances.

“Yeah,” Stefan replies, dazed, “Plenty more.” Brian starts up the hill, annoyed at being turned down.

“Asshole!” He exclaims as he joins the others.

“What? Who?” Stefan asks, acting blasé.

“That photographer, you saw the way he was looking at me, then he acted as if nothing had happened!” Brian turns and scowls back down in the direction of the pier. “I’ve had nothing but bad luck since…” he trails off, his voice hoarse. Stefan realises he is referring to Celeste, his ex-girlfriend; the wound is still fresh.

“Bri,” Stefan starts, searching for the right words, “He’s crazy for turning you down. Maybe you’re just feeling sensitive since you’re sick.” Stefan cringes as he speaks, hoping he has been vague enough not to upset his friend further.

Brian remembers the phone call he received from Paris earlier in the week; his girlfriend was already frustrated with him being on tour, but after reading some tabloid nonsense about him and Stefan secretly dating, she finally dumped him. He had been furious at first; how could she leave him over such a ridiculous rumour, _especially_ when they both knew for a fact that she was sleeping with other people. Of course he was also seeing others on the side, but not _Stefan,_ of all people. In fact, he recalls bitterly, he was the one pushing for an exclusive relationship. He could cope with the knowledge of Celeste seeing other men, but the thought of her with women drove him crazy. The same situation had made him swear against dating bisexual women before, but something about her made him break his own rule.

He pictures her as he last saw her; sprawled naked in his bed, long dark hair swept across her face. Her skin had smelt of cocoa butter and felt just as smooth. The last time he heard her voice it was cracked with sadness; the sultry tone she reserved for him was replaced by a hollow whisper. He had called her back repeatedly, begging for a chance to explain himself, but she slammed the receiver down each time, and then stopped bothering to answer him altogether.

Brian wonders why the gossip piece about him and Stefan had such an effect on her. He thought she and Stefan got along well; the three of them had often gone out together, and she had even asked Stefan to compose a soundtrack for her short film. He hadn’t admitted her reason for ending the relationship to his bandmates; although he had blamed Stefan initially, Brian soon realised he was hardly responsible. When asked about his relationship status that morning, he has told the interviewer that, “What was good for the goose was not for the gander.” He had implied that the break-up was his decision, following her infidelity.

Wrapped up in his thoughts, Brian has stopped walking, and Stefan wanders back down the track to meet him. He catches his bandmate watching him intently.

“I’m okay,” he says, pre-empting Stefan’s question. The bassist smiles and takes out his cigarette case.

He slides out a joint, his last, and motions to Brian with it. He nods and Stefan lights it. He sucks deeply and holds the smoke in as long as he can. He passes the joint to Brian who does the same, coughing as he exhales. They look down at the beach before them. Warm white sand, brilliant blue water; the overcast weather cannot spoil the postcard perfect view. Footsteps thud behind them as Steve bounds back down the track.

“You are _not_ leaving me with that dick again!” Steve states; he laughs as he throws his arms around their shoulders. They chuckle and Brian passes the joint to him. “Much obliged,” Steve says as he takes it. “Wouldn’t this have been perfect shot,” he exclaims, exhaling smoke, “Us three little peas in a pod.” They laugh in response.

“Mmm,” Brian agrees, taking the joint from him, “This is much more _gangster_.” He giggles again.

“Gang _sta_.” Stefan adds, pulling a face and attempting to make gang symbols with his long fingers. Steve splutters with laughter and Brian cackles.

“Hey!” Someone calls behind them. They turn and see the stylist glaring at them from his van, hands on hips.

“Coming, _Claude_!” Brian shouts back, and the three trudge up the track toward him.   

Steve changes back into his own shorts and football jersey, and Stefan swaps the stylist’s suit pants for his own similar slacks. He leaves the white shirt on, unbuttoned over his tank top. Steve explains the dry-cleaning situation to Brian; the shorter man is delighted at the prospect of keeping his costume on.

“I’ll have to take these now,” the stylist interrupts, motioning to Brian’s parasol and gloves. He gives them up reluctantly. Claude returns their belongings, reminds them of the fees his studio will charge for lost or damaged costumes and then leaves in the van.

“Christ, he was so much nicer earlier, wasn’t he Stefan?” Brian comments and Stefan nods in agreement.

“Let’s head back to the hotel? I’m desperate for a shower, and a beer,” Steve says as he shoves his shirt into a plastic shopping bag.  

“Nooo, let’s go for a swim!” Brian gestures to the open water before them. “There isn’t even anyone else here, we have to!” Steve wipes perspiration from his forehead; as inviting as the ocean looks, he wants a break from the heat.

“But it’s still so hot,” he argues. 

“It’s _humid_ ,” Brian corrects, “C’mon, the sun’s setting, it’ll be dark soon, it should cool down then.”

Steve is not convinced, “Stef, what do you think?”

Stefan thinks about how refreshing it would feel to take a shower and change into cooler clothes.

“Stefffyyy, you wanna come swimming, don’t you?” Brian asks, beaming up at him. He scans the beach; the clean sand and open water look incredibly welcoming. However, it’s the large blue-green eyes looking up at him so longingly that persuade him.

“Yeah, I want to stay here too,” he says smiling.

Brian laughs triumphantly then hugs Stefan. The Swede feels his stomach flip at the contact.

“Fine, I’ll see you two back at the hotel,” Steve admits defeat. “Want me to take anything?” He offers, holding open his bag. Brian detaches himself from Stefan and puts his wallet, hotel key, make-up kit and cigarettes into the plastic bag.

“And can you take these too?” He asks, handing over his other outfit, black women’s jeans and a tee-shirt, as well as his boots.

“What did your last slave die of?”  Steve kids, pretending to strain under the weight of the items.

“Insubordination,” Brian quips, smirking. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Hey Stef, want me to take anything?”

“Nah,” Stefan raises his recently healed wrist; his skin looks paler and the hairs darker where the plaster cast had been. “I won’t swim, so it’ll be fine.”

“Alright then, enjoy the sun, I’ll think of you both when I’m enjoying a pint back at the hotel!” Steve laughs as he walks away.

“Jokes on you,” Brian calls out, “A group of topless sunbathers could arrive any minute!”

“Make sure you bring them back with you!” Steve shouts back. Stefan chuckles, but hopes they will be able to keep this part of the beach to themselves. Brian races down to the sand while Stefan wanders slowly. A cool, gentle breeze blows off the ocean and he breathes the salty scent in deeply. He feels more relaxed than he has in a long time, but a tiny part of him is apprehensive; he isn’t sure why. Stefan watches the sunlight glisten on the water; it is mesmerising and calming. He sees his bandmate standing in the shallows, still fully dressed.

Brian wades out into the water; his pantyhose are soaking wet and cling tight to his legs. He holds the hem of his dress above the lapping water and squeals as a large wave rolls by. Stefan laughs, thinking that Brian’s cropped bob and outfit make him look like flapper in an old fashioned swimsuit, rather than a gangster moll. He wishes he had bought a camera.

“Brian,” he calls “Your dress! You’ll ruin it!” Brian turns around and motions that he can’t understand him. Stefan notices how the sea breeze rustles his friend’s dark hair and tugs the black frock tighter against his small frame. He thinks he feels himself blush, and tries to turn his focus to the deep blue ocean before him. The waves roll up to the sand rhythmically; Stefan enjoys watching the patterns they leave behind on the beach. He convinces himself that the weird feeling in the pit of his stomach is hunger having skipped lunch; the exhilaration he feels looking out over the waves at his friend must be because he is high.  

The sun has almost set and the last traces of golden light sparkle on the water’s surface. The shorter man has been watching the other closely; Brian is bemused by the way he has been acting around him lately. Stefan notices Brian staring and motions for him to come out of the water, but Brian shakes his head and walks further out into the ocean. He turns around to grin at Stefan, then starts to twirl, arms outstretched. The water swells behind him but he doesn’t notice; Stefan yells to Brian, but the huge wave crashes over him. He pops out of the water, wide eyed and soaked; Stefan again regrets not bringing his camera. Now laughing, Brian falls back into the water, proving to Stefan that he is not coming out anytime soon. Bobbing up and down with the current, Brian sees that his friend is still watching him; he stands back up and motions for Stefan to join him. Stefan shakes his head in response but Brian still waves him toward the water.

Stefan sighs, then kicks off his shoes and slides off his slacks, shirt and tank top. He leaves them a few metres from the tide’s reach. He wades slowly into the ocean and is surprised by the water’s warmth. As he nears the other man, something bright flashes; he blinks then notices how Brian’s silver crucifix shines in the last of the daylight. Each glint is like a beacon and he finds himself drawn to it. He reaches Brian and presses his hand against the pendant; it is warm, but the body wearing it is hotter. He notes how Brian’s pulse quickens and how soft his damp skin is. He feels Brian swallow and he pulls his hand away hastily, as if he has been burnt. Brian stares up at the taller man, confused. Stefan turns away, blushing.

“Sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” he mutters. A wave rushes around them, leaving a trail of thick white foam.  

Brian laughs nervously, “Christ, I thought you were going to kiss me!”

Stefan’s cheeks turn a deeper red, he mumbles about the sunset. Brian watches him intently; he is pretending to look at something far away. He notices how Stefan is chewing lightly on his lip and how he hasn’t shaved today. He watches water droplets running down from Stefan’s collar bone, trailing his lean torso. Brian glances downward to his navel and imagines how his hip bones look beneath the water…

He looks away quickly before Stefan can catch him. However, the taller man hasn’t noticed a thing. He is absorbed in his own thoughts, slowly dragging his fingertips though the sea foam as he deliberates his feelings. Brian turns back to face him; he swiftly scoops up water in cupped hands, and then throws it in Stefan’s face.

“That oughta cool you off, Casanova!” Brian quips, then rushes away before Stefan can retaliate.

“Hey!” Stefan is caught by surprise, but chases after his attacker. He easily catches up to Brian and splashes him back by slamming the water with both palms.

Brian giggles, “I was only trying to help you Steffie!” Laughing, Stefan slaps the water, spaying Brian again.

“Oh really?” Stefan asks, feigning anger. Brian ducks out of the way, then leaps over and grabs Stefan by the wrists.

“Stop,” he pleads, then he flutters his eyelashes in pantomime, “Y’know, you can kiss me anytime you like, stud.”

Stefan’s heart skips a beat and his breath catches. He looks down; he knows Brian is joking but he can’t help himself. He takes a deep breath, then leans forward and kisses Brian lightly on the lips. Stefan tastes salt and feels Brian’s grip tighten on his wrists. Brian is taken by surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. He closes his eyes and pushes his lips against Stefan’s. Their lips move together gently; they are both cautious, but curious. Stefan opens his mouth a little and Brian’s tongue snakes in, brushing against his. Brian loosens his grip on the other man’s wrists and slides his hands up his arms, then his shoulders and wraps them around the back of Stefan’s neck, pulling him closer. The tide sneaks toward the shore, cooling water rising around them as the sun finally sinks below the horizon. Underwater, Stefan’s hand seeks out Brian’s waist; his long fingers slide against Brian’s silk dress and he delights in the warmth he feels beneath the material.  His grip tightens when he reaches Brian’s hip. The men are wound tightly together; Stefan’s thoughts are lost in the moment but Brian has noticed how high the tide has gotten. He pulls away from the kiss and looks up at Stefan. Neither knows what to say, and both are reluctant to move.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Brian says, smiling. He searches his friend’s face for answers but find none; Brian is willing to accept the affection without an explanation. Stefan is still lost for words; he slides his hands from Brian’s waist, acknowledging that the moment is over.

“Let’s head back?” Brian asks, his fingertips skimming across the nape of Stefan’s neck. Stefan shivers at the touch and nods in agreement. Brian brings his hands down and they both swim towards the shore.

Upon reaching the sand, Stefan looks around for his clothes and begins to panic when he realises they are gone.

“Fuck!” he shouts as he wades back into the shallows. Brian takes a minute to realise what is wrong, and chuckles as he follows Stefan back into the water.

“You’re gonna be in trouble, y’know we have to return these clothes!”

Stefan scoffs in response. He is on his knees feeling around in the water, when a small wave washes up a bundle of dark material. Stefan grabs it and holds up it up; his slacks. He clumsily checks the back pocket and breathes a sigh of relief when he finds his wallet and cigarette case still inside. “Alright,” he says, “This’ll do. I’ll come and look for the rest tomorrow.”

“I wonder if the studio will charge you much for the shirt?” Brian teases.

“Not as much as they will for your dress.” Stefan retorts.

“Huh?”

“It’s _silk._ ” Stefan states. Brian stops and stares.

“Aw, shit! Stef, why didn’t you say something!?”

“I _did!_ I tried calling you out of the water earlier.”

“Oh.” Stefan looks down at Brian, he is pouting and his mascara has run. His hair is limp but Stefan can’t help but think the way it frames his pale face is beautiful. The little crucifix around Brian’s neck twinkles at him again, as bright as daylight. “Why are you wearing that, anyway?”

“What?” Brian looks up at him sulkily.

“This.” Stefan holds the pendant in his open palm and relishes the softness of Brian’s skin against the back of his hand. He is hesitant to let go of the jewellery, but is worried he will find himself drawn to Brian again. He slides his hand away and the chain falls neatly into place around Brian’s neck.

“Oh that,” Brian says as he strokes the crucifix lightly; he imagines a burning trail where Stefan’s hand had been. “That stylist, Claude, thought it added a ‘gothic touch’,” he giggles, “I think it’s much more ‘catholic schoolgirl’, really.” Brian giggles.

He starts walking away when Stefan begins, flustered, “Bri, I…” The taller man sighs; he isn't sure how to continue. He knows Brian is still hurting from the breakup; the last thing he wants is to make things worse for his friend. Brian watches him patiently, waiting for an answer; the way Stefan blushes again is another clue. He wonders how long his bandmate has felt this way about him and is worried about the seriousness of Stefan’s feelings. Brian is surprised but not shocked; slightly too stoned to fully comprehend this revelation.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a wink, “I know I’m irresistible!” As he teases, another thought occurs to Brian; _Celeste knew._ He turns and walks away from his friend, feeling suddenly betrayed. Stefan tries to read his reaction but he knows there is no point pressing him further when he isn’t even sure how he feels himself. Stefan sighs and attempts to shake the sand out of his slacks. He is tempted to walk back in just his underwear, but decides against it. He slides the wet pants on and is thankful for the balmy weather.

Brian frowns to himself, fuming quietly. As he strides across the sand, he realises that even now he can’t blame Stefan. And while he pines for Celeste, he recalls the excitement that Stefan’s kiss sparked inside him. He glances back at his bandmate; Stefan smiles coyly. They walk back toward their hotel in silence; each man lost in quiet contemplation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternate title I was considering is "Sand in the Vaseline," a song title offered by Brian when asked what he would name a song about Australia, a la English Summer Rain. It probably sets the tone more accurately. I went with 'rain to sea' as this big old mess started out as a tiny song ficlette.
> 
> ~*the more you know*~


	2. Chapter 2

Once they return, Stefan makes a beeline for his room; he searches his pockets but realises he has lost his key. His initial frustration with the situation turns to rage.

“Fucking! Jesus! Christ!”

He pounds on the door angrily. He turns and finds Brian watching him, “Wait, I didn’t have your key too, did I?” He asks, exasperated.

“No, Steve took my stuff with him from the shoot,” Brian says, smiling sympathetically. With perfect timing, the door next to Stefan’s swings open. Steve appears wearing a look of annoyance; he shrugs on a dressing gown, hastily tying the belt around his waist.

“What’s with all the banging?” He asks gruffly. A feminine voice calls his name from inside the room.

Brian raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“Did Stefan’s banging interrupt _your_ banging, Steve?”

They hear the woman giggling. Steve clears his throat and looks sternly at Brian, while Stefan tries to hide his laughter.

“Ah, just sort yourselves out lads.” Steve says dismissively.

“Wait, can I have my stuff back?” Brian asks. Steve ducks back into his room, and soon returns with Brian’s belongings, all stuffed into the plastic shopping bag. He piles Brian’s clothes and boots on top. While handing it over, Steve notices his friends’ soggy attire, and how much of Stefan’s clothing is missing. He shoots Brian a questioning look, and receives a shrug in reply. He turns to Stefan.

“Where’s your stuff?”

“Washed away.” Stefan attempts to disguise his irritation as indifference. Steve suppresses his amusement.

“Your wallet? Key?”

“Wallet’s safe, key wasn’t so lucky.” Stefan sighs.

“Shit! And we have to return everything  dry-cleaned before we leave tomorrow-” Brian’s glare cautions him to drop the subject. “Anyway,” Steve tactfully continues, “Are we still going out later?”

“Yes!” Brian answers for the both of them, “I found out about a club called Budgie Smugglers, oh Stevie, it’s just your cup of tea.”

Stefan snickers and Steve rolls his eyes. Before he can protest, Steve’s guest calls out for him again; she sounds impatient. As he rushes back inside, Steve suggests that they meet at 10. His door is shut before either can respond. Brian and Stefan look at each other and laugh.

“I’m heading down to the lobby to sort out my key, and to visit the bar. I need a drink. Or 6.”

Brian chuckles and is glad to see that Stefan has calmed down. The Swede’s outbursts are so rare that Brian is never sure how to deal with them. 

 “I’m gonna take a shower. I’ll leave my door unlocked just in case, y’know, if you have trouble with reception,” Brian says as he searches through the plastic bag for his own key. Stefan’s breath catches in his chest; images of Brian showering flood his mind. He shakes the thought from his head.

“Uh, thanks,” is all he can muster in response, before taking off down the hall.

Brian finds his key and wriggles it into the lock, he opens the door and turns the light on. The stark white tones and sterility of the room leave him longing for the clutter and chaos of his London flat. Hotel rooms are no longer a novelty for him; not when he is sober, at least. He opens the window, hoping the breeze will cool the room down, and turns on the television for some company. The nasal twang of the Australian news reader is jarring; he flicks through to a music channel. Brian slides off the silk dress and wonders if it can be saved; another bill Alex will blast them over. He cringes while thinking about it.

He saunters into the bathroom, sliding off his pantyhose and underwear. Brian checks himself out in the mirror; his shoulders glow with sunburn, his hair looks matted and the expertly applied makeup from the shoot has smudged horribly. He sighs, and prays that no one has recognised him; or worse yet, has taken photos. He turns the water on in the shower and admires his new crucifix. He continues to finger the pendant as he steps into the running water. He wonders why Stefan likes it. _Or does he just like me?_ The water pressure is low but the temperature is cool enough to feel invigorating. Brian looses himself in his thoughts; he is sure Stefan fancies him, but is he after sex or more? And what does _he_ want? He has snogged Stefan for paparazzi and played it up onstage, but is he really interested in his bandmate that way? He just got dumped _because_ of his fooling around with Stefan, he considers, the last thing he should be doing is kissing him.

He shampoos twice in an effort to remove every last trace of sand and salt. He asks himself if he would sleep with Stefan, or if he could see himself in a relationship with him. Stefan is one of the few constants in his life; emotionally and artistically he is a better partner than Celeste ever was. He frowns while conditioning; he is puzzled by the whole ordeal, but somewhat interested in what it might lead to.

Lazily lathering himself with gel from another tiny complimentary bottle, Brian rubs himself down and replays the earlier event; Stefan had touched his necklace, and then kissed him; he kissed back. He had kissed back with tongue and wrapped his arms around him. He had been admiring Stefan earlier too, he realises. His lean chest and sculpted collar bones; beneath the water, his protruding hip bones. Brian pictures his friend’s flat stomach, imagines running his hand down his navel, down further, his fingers combing though downy hair… Brian feels a pull in his groin and his penis pulses.

A loud knock at the door startles him; he panics. His hand is wrapped tight around his hardening dick; he waits until he hears another knock before reluctantly letting go. He turns the taps off quickly and leaps out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy white towel around his waist. “Just a minute!” he calls, hurrying toward the door. He grabs the dressing gown from the wardrobe and throws it on for added protection.

Brian swings the door open; Stefan looks squeaky clean, and is dressed in tight black jeans and a loose grey shirt. His blonde hair is spiked up with gel, and he is wearing just a hint of eye makeup. He has with him a bottle of Absolut.

“Sorry,” Stefan says, seeing Brian bundled up in his towel and dressing gown, “I’ll come back in a minute?”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Brian looks flustered, but is sincere. “Come in,” he glances at the digital clock on the bedside table; over an hour has passed since he last saw Stefan. “Shit, I didn’t realise the time.”

“It’s okay, I can come back,” Stefan pauses, “but I have ordered dinner for us.” Brian’s stomach rumbles; he has hardly eaten at all today.

“Aw Steffie, you’re a darling! Come in, you can help me pick an outfit!” Brian pulls Stefan in and shuts the door. Even with the window open, humidity hangs heavy in the air. Stefan switches on the floor fan.

“Aren’t you hot in that gown, Brian?”

“Oh, yeah.” He is roasting inside the heavy garment, but steals a downward glance before daring to take it off. He laughs nervously while undressing, “I, uh, didn’t want anyone to see my tits, y’know? Could have been anyone knocking!” Stefan smiles.

“Might have gotten your room service for free.”

“Is that how you got yourself that vodka then?” Brian retorts. Stefan chuckles, holding the bottle up to admire.

“The bar doesn’t open ‘til late, but the guy on reception grabbed this for me. Made me promise I’d introduce him to you and Steve later.”

“Oh, a fan on reception, could work in our favour!” Brian looks delighted.

“Until you catch him in here sniffing your knickers later,” Stefan jokes.

“Aw, you’re awful!” Brian scolds, then asks, “Is he cute?”

“He’s trying his best to look like you, actually.”

“Then he must be adorable!”

Stefan laughs heartily.

“Anyway, he ordered our dinner on the house; even said he would arrange the _herb special_.”

“Oh? Oh! What a charmer. I’ll have to give him a tip later.”

“I think he wants more than just your tip.” Stefan quips. Brian squeals in amusement.

“Stefan, you’re terrible!” Brian has pulled a number of dresses from the wardrobe and piled them beside Stefan. “I can’t fuck them when they look like me though, it’s just too weird.” Stefan snickers, and then forces himself to focus on the pile of clothing. Thinking about Brian in bed with anyone makes him feel strange, he doesn’t want to persue the thought.  He pulls out a slinky black number with spaghetti straps from the pile and frowns.

“Are you sure you want to dress like this tonight?” They had been warned about close-mindedness of some locals, especially since it wasn’t tourist season.  Brian notes Stefan’s concern and smiles.

“It’ll be fine, we’re going to a gay club, not a rugby match.”

“Probably see just as many bears in mini shorts, eh?” Stefan jokes and Brian giggles. Brian pulls a black shift style dress from the heap; it’s sleeveless with an abstract white pattern.

“Perfect,” Stefan comments and Brian beams. “Plus, with that pattern, you won’t have to worry about spunk stains!” he teases. Brian screws up his nose and pokes his tongue out.

“I’m sorry you can’t appreciate my excellent taste in couture, Stefan.” He pauses and smirks, “Or is this just your blue balls talking?”

Brian stalks off into the bathroom, leaving Stefan with his mouth agape. He has a point, Stefan realises. When _was_ the last time he got laid? That groupie the first night in Canberra; he wasn’t Stefan’s type at all, he looked far too feminine, a Brian clone. His hair was a little longer, straight, without the natural wave Brian’s had. The black nails and lace-up boots looked the part, but this boy was thinner and a little taller than his bandmate. The makeup had been spot on though, and in the dark Stefan had been able to project the image of his friend onto the stranger. The way this boy moaned, the way his long eyelashes fluttered, and how he smelt after sex; in his drunken state, Stefan had almost convinced himself it really was Brian.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters, the realisation hits hard. Stefan admits to himself that is _exactly_ the type he had been looking for. He speculates that this has been going on for a while now, when he’s drunk or high; when he lets his guard down. Stefan sits with his head in his hands; he wonders if he is in love with Brian.

“ _No_ , no, **_no_** ,” he whispers, in denial. He thinks to himself that he likes men; men who look like _men_. He consoles himself with the thought that he’s just horny; horny, fatigued, confused. He lifts his head from his hands and picks up the vodka bottle. _It’s definitely time for a drink_ , he thinks miserably.  Stefan grabs one of the chilled tumblers from the self of the mini refrigerator, and pours himself the equivalent of a shot. He swallows it in one quick gulp. The vodka is a little warm, so he throws some ice cubes into his glass and pours another, twice the alcohol this time, then swirls it gently.

“Me too!” Brian calls from the bathroom, upon hearing the clinking of ice. Stefan grabs another glass, shells out more cubes and pours another double. He walks into the bathroom, and Brian turns to face him.

“Wow.”

Stefan can’t help but stare. Thick pencil and shadow boldly frame Brian’s eyes; the winged eyeliner makes them look impossibly large.   

“Oh, pick your jaw up!” Brian kids. Stefan blushes; he wishes it was the vodka going to straight to his head, but Brian looks stunning. “Once you stop drooling,” Brian teases, “you can help me pick a lip colour.” Brian holds up two tubes, one is a deep purple gloss, the other a rich red lipstick. Stefan rolls his eyes.

“Whichever you prefer,” he offers, and goes to leave the bathroom.

“Stefan, heeelp!” Brian pouts and looks up at him with his doe eyes.

“Fine, the red.” Stefan suggests, sipping from his glass in an effort to appear nonchalant. Brian smiles knowingly.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Don’t push it,” Stefan warns light-heartedly. Brian applies the lipstick, and then follows Stefan out of the bathroom. He sits down on the edge of the bed, pulls on his black leather boots and begins to lace them up. There is a knock at the door and Brian rushes to answer it. He swings it open and stares; it’s like looking into a fairground mirror. Stefan stands behind him, watching with amusement. The receptionist squeals, and then mumbles about their food, motioning to the cart beside him. Brian nods and smiles, although he feels a little awkward. He holds the door open and the cart is wheeled in. The young man is almost as tall as Stefan, but has long hair; a black bob. His eyes are darkened with heavy eye-liner and mascara, and although he wears a uniform, Doc Martin boots peep out from under his trousers. The receptionist begins gushing.

“I can’t believe it’s really you, I have all your CDs, the singles as well! And magazines, and… Oh God, I just, I feel like I know you already-”

“It’s nice to meet someone who enjoys our music,” Brian smiles nervously, “And it’s lovely of you to have bought us dinner.”

“I bought some tomato juice too, I read that you like it, to go with the vodka, and um…” He motions to the juice on the cart. “Oh!” Their guest fumbles through his pockets, “I got you this too, I, I thought you’d…” He hands over a little bundle wrapped in foil. “I can get you anything else you want, too.”

“Why thank you,” Brian looks over at Stefan, but he just shrugs. “Well, what we really want right now is something to eat,” He says with polite restraint, “But would you like something signed before you leave?” Stefan admires Brian’s choice of words. The receptionist looks around nervously, struggling to get a word out; he is unwilling, or unable, to move.

“Actually, we have a couple of press photos left from that interview yesterday,” Stefan offers, “Weren’t they in your case?” Brian looks relieved.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he looks from Stefan to their guest, “We’ll sign one for you.” He walks over to the wardrobe and shuffles through the front pocket of his suitcase, finally feeling the thicker cardstock of the photographs and yanking one out. Stefan has grabbed the complimentary pen from the bedside table and hands it to Brian. He signs his name with a flourish, adds a few ‘x’s for good measure, and hands the paper to Stefan. _To Matt,_ he writes, noting the nametag pinned to his uniform, _Thanks for the hospitality!_ He adds his signature and hands the photo over. The receptionist takes the photograph and grasps it tightly.

“Thank you, so, so, _so_ much,” He says, looking lovingly at Brian, “This is the best thing, most amazing night- I, uh, if there’s anything you need, anything, just call.” He reluctantly backs out the door and Brian smiles graciously as he closes it.

“Thanks, bye!” He locks the door just to be safe. “Oh _God,_ ” he whines dramatically. Stefan grins at him.

“See what I meant?”

“Yeah, he really will be searching through my stuff tomorrow.” Brian heaves a sigh, “Good thinking, y’know, the photo.”    

“Yeah, well, someone has to be the brains to your beauty.”

“Oh, ha _ha!_ ” Brian says with a grimace, “Anyway, let’s see what’s to eat, I’m starved!” The pair uncover a huge seafood platter and various salads. “Should we call Steve in?” Stefan asks. Brian has already begun eating.

“If he’s not sharing his, then I’m not sharing mine!” Brian replies snarkily. Stefan laughs and pops a prawn in his mouth.

“But if that’s what you’re after, I doubt you’ll find it at, what was it? Budgie Smugglers?”

Brian giggles but detects disappointment in his friends face.

“Nah, Steve can keep her, I am _definitely_ on the lookout for a man tonight.” He wipes tartar sauce from the side of his mouth with his thumb, and slowly sucks it off. His words and subtle actions send Stefan’s imagination into overdrive.

“You okay, Steffie? It’s alright, I’ll leave a few fellas for you.” Stefan smiles and takes a sip of vodka. “Besides,” Brian continues, “it’s most important that you break your drought. Can’t have you trying to kiss me all the time!” Stefan nearly spits the liquid out, but swallows instead; he coughs as it catches in his throat. Brian smirks and watches Stefan closely. “Take it easy; we’ve got a _big_ night ahead of us!”

Stefan avoids Brian’s gaze, his cheeks glow red. He takes another gulp of vodka, draining the glass; the liquor burns his throat on the way down. He coughs softly and grabs the Absolut bottle to top his glass up, then fills it with the tomato juice. As much as he feels like getting hammered, Stefan decides to slow it down in case he says too much to Brian. He feels his bandmate still watching him and looks up. Brian smiles and holds his glass up to Stefan for a refill.

“You okay?” he asks sincerely. Stefan obliges him and pours out more juice and vodka. “Stef?” Brian persists.

“Yeah. I just, about before, I… I… um…” Stefan examines the platter to avoid meeting Brian’s stare.

“It’s okay. Y’know, it was nice, the kiss.” Brian isn’t sure that it’s the right thing to say, he means it. One way or another, he is determined to get the truth out of his bandmate by the end of the night.

Stefan chews on a piece of calamari, carefully considering his options; he can be honest with Brian, or he can continue to ignore how he feels. The heavy warmth of alcohol clouds his mind.

“It was nice,” he eventually agrees, unsure what to say next. Brian figures that’s all he is going to get out of Stefan for now, so he changes the subject, “I’ll go let Steve know about the food.”

“Good idea.”

Stefan is beyond relieved and takes a gulp from his glass. Brian takes a crab leg from the platter and heads toward the door, lingering longer than necessary just in case Stefan has more to tell him; he says nothing. He sucks the flesh from the shell as he crosses the hallway, and knocks on Steve’s door. No response. He knocks harder, and hears movement from inside the room.

“Steve, it’s me,” he calls. The door finally opens to reveal the tired looking drummer.  Steve is shirtless; his shorts hang loosely around his waist, unbuttoned. Brian’s gaze sweeps from his board shoulders and muscular arms up to his dark eyes; a few loose strands of hair hang across his face, obscuring the view. Brian resists an urge to learn over and tuck the stray hairs behind his ear.

“What’s up?” Steve asks, eyeing the crab leg in Brian’s hand.

“We have food, a seafood platter. Although,” a cheeky smile plays on Brian’s lips, “maybe you’ve already had your fill of all things fishy?” Steve swats him gently.

“You git!”

“Ooh, be nice, or I won’t share!”

“Alright, alright.”

“Will your lady friend be joining us?” Brian enquires, peering into Steve’s room.

“Nah, she left ages ago, come on, let’s eat!” Steve pushes the singer across the hall into his room, nodding to Stefan before he begins feasting. Brian re-locks the door; he isn’t quite ready to deal with the receptionist again.

“Drink, Steve?” Stefan asks, holding up the vodka bottle. Steve turns to face him and grins, a prawn tail hangs from his mouth.

“Mmm, please,” he answers with his mouth full.

“Fish lips, eating your friends?” Brian kids, giggling.

“The ladies love my fish lips.” Steve retorts, pouting. Brian cackles. Stefan walks over to the refrigerator, but there are only mugs left. He twists the plastic ice tray and tips the remaining cubes into a mug. He sits back down and fills it; the Absolut bottle is now half full.

“Brian, top up?”

“Yes please!” Brian holds his tumbler out and Stefan refills it, then adds juice to both cups. The ice cubes knock noisily as Stefan passes Steve his drink.

“A toast!” the drummer declares, raising the mug, and the others follow his lead. “To Australia!” he shouts, “And it’s beautiful women!” They all cheer as they clink their cups together.

“Wait, let’s not forget the lovely boys we’re bound to find tonight,” Brian adds, before taking a drink.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, “You jumping the fence tonight then, Bri?”

Brian’s eyes twinkle, he looks toward Stefan, “A few more of these,” he motions with his glass, “and I’ll be jumping anyone who stands still long enough!” Stefan scoffs and Steve chortles loudly.

“And you Stefan, on the prowl tonight?”

“Uh, yeah,” he mutters.

“Stefan is our priority tonight, Steve,” Brian teases, “If the poor thing doesn’t get laid he’ll probably try drowning himself tomorrow just to get CPR from one of those beach lifeguards!”

Brian and Steve laugh loudly, while Stefan forces out an awkward chuckle. He wishes Brian would stop making such a big deal about him picking up tonight. He thinks back to the kiss and frowns. Maybe Brian has realised the way he feels, maybe he already knew; he didn’t exactly seem surprised about the kiss. Stefan sips his drink as he wonders; _is Brian just teasing me? Maybe he just wants to see how far I’ll go before he stops me_ , he thinks. He knows Brian is good at reading people, and Stefan has watched him play games with others over the years. Stefan sighs, he doesn’t want to think about his friend that way; besides, they were both stoned earlier. Brian probably just thought he was fucking around, that he was horny, he considers. In that case, he hopes Brian is right. Stefan feels a little comforted coming to this conclusion.

“Hey,” Steve turns to him, “Cheer up mate. I’m sure it hasn’t been that long, eh?” Stefan smiles.

“Not really, a week… and a half?”

“No big deal Stef-”

“ _No big deal!?_ ” Brian interrupts. “That was the first night we were here! Besides, how long was it before that?” Stefan is surprised that Brian remembers so much; he isn’t sure how to reply. Brian begins to do the math in his head; he wonders if Stefan’s feelings go back further than he had realised.

“Knock it off, Brian,” Steve says, “Not everyone’s as frisky as you, bloody rabbit!” Brian smirks at the drummer.

“Oh, but Stevie, he is! We need to get him sorted out before he molests any _more_ innocent people.”

Brian turns to the bassist with a grin on his face; Stefan looks to the floor, his face flushes with embarrassment. Steve just rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says as he stands up, “And I don’t _want_ to know. But I’m sure as hell they weren’t _innocent!_ ” Steve says as he walks toward the door, “I’m going to finish getting ready, and when I come back, I want you two to have kissed and made up.” He leaves before Brian can offer a smart come-back; Stefan just about falls off his chair.

Brian scoffs as Steve shuts the door behind him.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you Stefan?”

He offers no reply, and continues to stare at the ground. “Steffie, y’know I’m just joking around, right?” Stefan sighs in response.

“Stef?” Brian sounds more sincere. “C’mon, let’s have fun tonight, while it’s just the three of us.”

 Stefan looks up reluctantly to see Brian stand up and he walk over to him; he places his hands on Stefan’s shoulders and then sits on his lap, straddling him. Stefan gasps, he is frozen and stares at Brian with his mouth agape.

Brian giggles drunkenly. Stefan is still silent. The smaller man leans forward, draping his arms around Stefan’s neck. He presses his lips to his bandmate’s ear and whispers.

“Is this what you want?”

Stefan gulps and his cheeks burn a darker shade of red. Brian kisses his neck lightly and Stefan’s skin prickles where his lips make contact. Brian’s hair smells faintly of coconut, the usual cigarette scent washed away. His mouth is close to Stefan’s ear again.

“Am _I_ what you want?” He asks slowly; each word followed by a puff of warm breath.

Stefan’s eyes are closed; he desperately wants to answer ‘ _yes_ ’. He wants to hold Brian’s waist again; slide his hands up under his dress and feel the soft skin beneath. He wants to kiss him again; taste him again. Stefan sighs quietly, his arms hang by his sides, hands balled up in fists; he knows Steve will be back any minute now and he’s sure he can’t tell Brian the truth.

“Do you want me?” Brian asks, his voice is strained. He shifts his body forward slightly, the friction stirring Stefan’s groin; he swallows hard. “Just tell me,” Brian moans softly as he rocks his body against Stefan’s, “Tell me you want me.” Stefan takes a deep breath and attempts to clear his mind of alcohol and arousal’s influence.  Every fibre of his being is willing him to obey. “I…” Stefan inhales deeply, trying to steady his voice.

“Just say it.” Brian practically purrs in his ear. 

“I-” Stefan hesitates as he hears a door slam. “Steve,” he says, panicking. Brian stands up quickly, looking triumphant; although Stefan thinks he notices a flicker of disappointment cross his face. Brian saunters into the bathroom and turns on the hairdryer. Stefan gulps down his drink and rushes over to the window. He opens it all the way then takes his cigarette case from his pocket. He hears the door slam again across the hall and is thankful for whatever has delayed their bandmate. He lights a cigarette and takes a drag. He exhales quickly then repeats the action. The door swings open and Steve reappears wearing a maroon shirt and dark suit pants. Stefan raises an eyebrow.

“You’re dressed up.”

“I’ve gotta make an effort to keep up with you queens,” Steve jokes. “You two okay now?”

“Yeah, we’ve uh,” Stefan clears his throat, “We’ve made up.” He glances out the window.

“Brian!” Steve calls into the bathroom, “Nearly ready?” Brian turns off the hairdryer and appears in the doorway.

“Yeah, nearly, I’ve just gotta powder my nose.”

He taps his nostril then ducks back into the bathroom, Steve follows him. Stefan leans on the windowsill, admiring the view. Moonlight glistens prettily on the ocean, and the white sand has been washed clean and smooth by the lowering tide. The air is still humid but now tingles with static electricity; Stefan wonders if a storm is brewing. He grinds out his cigarette butt out on the windowsill and considers joining the others in the bathroom. He decides to wait until they get to the club and try to score some pills instead. He taps his pockets, checking he has everything; wallet, smokes, passport, key. Brian and Steve emerge from the bathroom grinning.

“Let’s go!” Brian yells, darting towards Stefan. He looks up at him with wide eyes, and grabs him by the wrists, leading him to the door.

“Have you got everything?” Stefan asks him, sounding like his mother.

“Yeesss.”

Brian drops his hold on him and holds his bag open for inspection.

“What about your passport?” Stefan asks.

“Why? They’ll know who I am!” Brian whines, looking to Steve.

“I nearly forgot mine too,” Steve offers, “Just take it now so we don’t have to come back, c’mon!”

“Alright, alright.” Brian races over to the wardrobe and searches his suitcase, throwing clothing over his shoulder.

“Front pocket?” Stefan suggests.

Brian pulls his passport out and shoves it into his handbag. He jumps up and bounces over to the door, then turns to looks at the others.

“C’mon!” Steve looks to Stefan and they both roll their eyes.

“What baby wants, baby gets!” Steve jokes.

“Should we call a taxi first?” Stefan asks.

“No,” Brian says, “Stylist from the shoot said it was only a few blocks up from the pier.”

“Alright then,” Stefan grabs the Absolut bottle from the cart and joins the others at the door, “Let’s go!” Brian and Steve cheer, and storm down the hall toward the elevator; Stefan closes the door and follows. They squeeze in around an elderly couple; the woman swats the man’s arm after he gives Brian a wink.

“Leave the young lady alone,” she warns him, “Last thing she wants is an old perve like you.” Brian giggles, and runs his fingers through his hair while Stefan and Steve look away and try their hardest to hold in laughter. They soon reach the ground floor; once the doors open, Brian bounds ahead while the other two wait for the old man and woman to exit.  The couple shuffle toward the bar, the woman still scolding her husband. Stefan notices that their receptionist friend has Brian cornered.

“Not again.” He mutters. Steve looks to him.

“Huh, what?” He realises as he is asking and begins chuckling. “Well,” he says, approaching the reception desk, “I must be seeing double!” Brian looks nervous but relaxes as Steve comes nearer.

“Yeah,” he jokes, “This is my stunt double, uh…” He looks apologetically toward the receptionist.

“M-Matt,” he offers, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

“Matt organised our dinner, and other treats,” Stefan adds as he joins the others.

“Bloody terrific!” Steve exclaims, patting him on the shoulder, “Best meal we’ve had in ages, mate.”

“I, uh, um, thanks.” Matt still looks like a rabbit caught in headlights. Brian has wandered off to a pamphlet stand and is admiring the tour packages as he chews his nails.

“Hey,” Stefan suggests, “How about we have Steve sign that photo we gave you earlier?” Steve nods eagerly and Matt walks robotically into the office behind him to retrieve it.

“Come _on!_ ” Brian sulks, “Let’s go!”

Matt returns in a rush, “S-sorry,” he mumbles in Brian’s direction, holding out the photo and a marker to Steve.

Brian doesn’t appear to have heard him, “I’m going out for a smoke,” he tells them as he dashes toward the entrance. Steve finishes signing the paper and hands the marker back.

 “Thanks again for dinner,” he says with a grin, “We’ll see you later!” The receptionist looks worried as he watches out the large glass windows lining the entrance; Brian is pacing back and forth outside. Steve leaves to join him and Stefan smiles kindly at Matt before striding after the others.

Brian sighs loudly when they catch up to him, and lights another cigarette as they descend the concrete stairs leading from the hotel.  He looks shaken.

“You okay, Bri?” Stefan asks.

“Yeah… No, I’m actually kinda creeped out,” Brian fidgets with his cigarette, “I mean, it’s nice to influence people, it’s amazing, but when people want to _be_ you… where does that leave me?” He stops walking and his bandmates catch up to him. 

“It’s not like that,” Steve offers, “You went through a Bowie phase as a teenager, yeah? Make-up and that? And it was just a step to finding yourself. This kid is just the same, a bunch of kids are just the same; be proud, and just keep being you.” Steve gives Brian a quick hug as he finishes. Both Brian and Stefan are awed by his speech. “Don’t act so shocked,” Steve says, laughing at the looks on their faces, “Even drummers can have moments of clarity!” Brian grins at him.

“Aw, Stevie, you’re right, thank you!” Brian pecks him on the cheek and giggles. Stefan feels a pang of jealousy watching the exchange.

“Hey, save that for boys the bar.” Steve says, rubbing red lipstick from his face as he walks ahead.

“Aww, I know you want meeee!” Brian yells, racing after him; he catches up and turns back to look at Stefan. “Everyone wants me,” he says matter-of-factly, his self confidence restored and grandiosity growing. Stefan is caught in his gaze; his stomach churns with anxiety as the corner of Brian’s mouth twists up into a smirk. He hurries to catch up to Steve and makes a point of pulling a face; Steve does the same.

“Sure Princess, sure,” Steve teases. Stefan remembers the bottle he has with him and takes a swig, then passes it to Steve. “Don’t mind if I do,” he says as he takes the bottle. Stefan feels the vodka burn on its way down his throat to his stomach; he feels soothed as the warmth spreads.

They walk a few blocks along the beach front, and Stefan pauses a moment to admire the palm trees that line the footpath. The long leaves of the tropical trees sway gently and Stefan thinks that the breeze is stronger now. He looks out to the ocean and sees a couple running along the beach, splashing in the shallows. Before he can start dwelling on his and Brian’s swim earlier, Steve calls to him to hurry up. He catches up to the others and they spot the pier from their photo shoot.

“Okay, okay,” Brian rushes ahead, ready to navigate. “He said to keep walking ‘til we get to the traffic lights, then it’s just two blocks on the right.”

“How’d you get him to give you directions? He was an arsehole to me.” Steve asks.

“He must’ve fancied me!” Brian replies, grinning.

“Ah, what a life, Brian; everyone wants to be you, or be with you!” Steve teases.

“Or both,” Stefan adds.

“It’s a hard job, I admit,” Brian says facetiously, “but someone has to do it.”

“Inspirational, you are.” Steve replies jokingly, although he is relieved that Brian is no longer worried about the hotel receptionist. They soon arrive at an intersection and cross over to the right side of the road. They follow the street and pass various pubs, clubs and restaurants. “It should be along here…” Brian says with uncertainty.

“Maybe it’s a trap, he’s going to get us back for the costumes you two have ruined.” Steve kids.

“Hey, I still might find my shirt!” Stefan slurs and the others laugh. They pass a few shop fronts before coming to an alley way. A pink light shines brightly a little way down the path.

“Could be it… he didn’t say anything about an alley though.” Brian takes a step into the darkness.

“It’s definitely a trap-” Stefan jabs Steve with his elbow before he can continue. Loud bass echoes down the alley; they reach a doorway bathed in neon pink light and step inside. A bored young androgyne sits behind a table, carving patterns into the wooden table-top with a flick knife.

“Password,” they mumble, not bothering to look up.

“Password?” Brian asks.

“It’s an _invite only_ night,” they answer, gouging the knife deeper into the wood.

“Well, we were invited. The stylist, uh, Claude, he invited us.” Brian sounds annoyed.

“Yeah I bet. One of Claude’s big, famous, _imaginary_ clients.” They scoff, “Let me guess, you’re some _big_ rockstars and-”

They look up and gasp, letting the knife drop. “Oh. My. God. I am _so_ sorry, please, come in, take these.” They push a pile of drink cards toward Brian, hands shaking. Brian takes them and smirks.

He struts past the desk and Steve follows closely behind. Stefan staggers forward, clumsily places his vodka bottle down, then leans his hands on the table to steady himself; the person behind it looks up in alarm.

“Do you know…” Stefan begins, and they brace themselves for a blasting, “Do you know where, where I can get some E?” Stefan asks with a grin and they sigh with relief.

“Yeah, yeah, leave it with me.”

“Thanks!”

Stefan stands up straight, wobbles, and then stumbles off after the others. He follows the sounds of the throbbing bass down a short hallway that opens up into the dance floor. The club is quite small but there must be a hundred people packed in. It looks like an average nightclub except for the pair of red and yellow striped flags hanging either side of the mixing desk, mimicking the safety areas on Australian beaches. Stefan soon notices another addition; on the opposite side of the room, two muscular men dance on raised platforms. They are wearing red Speedos with _Surf Rescue_ printed across the back and each wear a yellow whistle around their neck.  Stefan gawps as the dancers gyrate in time with the music. A hand on his shoulder brings him back to reality; he turns to find Steve.

“You mightn’t have to go to the beach tomorrow to find your lifesaver after all!”

Stefan looks confused but smiles at Steve nonetheless.

“C’mon mate, let’s get you a drink.” Steve flashes Stefan one of the drink cards and leads him to the bar. They join the queue and a shirtless older man turns around and looks Steve up and down; the drummer smiles apologetically and shakes his head. Unfazed, the old bear takes a step forward and leans in.

“You look like you could do with a Daddy.”

Steve laughs as he takes a step back, and Stefan throws his arm around him, glaring down at the older man. He is not so much discouraged as delighted.

“Oh,” he growls, “A package deal!” Stefan loses his composure and cracks up laughing, and Steve winces.

“Sorry, Daddy,” Stefan slurs, “We don’t want to play.”  The older guy rubs his hands together, and grins.

“You two come find me later, I know some fun games.” He turns back around and moves up to his place in the queue. Steve sighs and Stefan shakes with silent laughter.

“I’m glad _you’re_ enjoying yourself,” Steve says as they reach the front of the queue, “There’s not a single woman in this place!”

“Oh darling,” a voice behind the bar purrs, “Are you quite sure about that?” Steve looks over and chuckles, a dark skinned drag queen in a towering purple wig and bright green bikini watches him as she pulls a beer.

“My apologies!” he says, “Seems I spoke too soon.”

“Mmhmm… Now what is that, a Manchurian accent?”

“Yeah!” Steve grins. She hands the beer to the older man and he winks at Stefan as he leaves.

“Well then, what can I get you two travellers?”

“Couple of drafts, thanks,” Steve orders as Stefan’s attention has returned to the dancers across the room.

“Ooh, that accent of yours! I just can’t concentrate,” she says, placing two frothy beers on the bar, “Oh, just look at these…”

“Nah, this is great, pints back home usually come with more head than beer,” Steve jokes, handing over a drink card.

“Well, I’m happy to give you more head, if you like?” She offers meaningfully, watching Steve closely.

“No, that’s-” Steve realises what she’s suggesting and pauses. “That’s fine, you’ve given me great head, _beer_ , beer! Great beer, thanks.” Stefan tunes in and watches as Steve clears his throat and nods awkwardly before taking their drinks. Stefan follows him over to a lounge.

“What was that!?”

“ _Nothing!_ ” Steve says, embarrassed. Stefan takes a glass from him.

“Cheers!” He says, raising his glass.

“Cheers, bottoms up!” Steve adds.

“Careful saying that in here,” Stefan jokes and Steve scoffs. They each gulp the beer down quickly. Stefan belches then laughs.

“Another?” Steve asks and Stefan nods. “You can get it,” Steve insists.

“What, don’t you want to find out if she gives _great head_?” Stefan teases.

“ _She_ is a _he_ , so no, I do _not_ want to find out!” Steve hisses. “Would you want a blow job from a woman?”

 Stefan considers this carefully, his alcohol sodden brain slowly processing his response. He wouldn’t even want a _man_ who looks like a woman, he wants to say. But he knows he would be lying. His thoughts inevitably turn to Brian and he frowns. Why would he want Brian, he wonders. He glances over at one of the dancers on a raised platform; bronzed, brawny, blonde. A square jaw, sweat trailing down from his hairy chest to his bulging swimmers. He contemplates Brian in his dress earlier, dripping wet; silk sticking tight to his feminine frame, water droplets running down his would-be cleavage. Damp, dark hair, long lashes framing his longing eyes and those soft, salty lips. Stefan feels his stomach churn and something rises in his throat.

“Stef, are you okay?” Steve watches the colour drain from his friends face. “I think you’ve had enough to drink…” Stefan leaps up and looks around, clapping a hand to his mouth. “Shit, shit,” Steve mutters as he glances around, before finally spotting the toilets. “There!” He points toward the end of the bar, and he ushers Stefan forward. Steve grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him though the line for the bar, cuts into the bathroom queue, and into an unoccupied stall. Stefan collapses to his knees and throws up into the toilet bowl, hugging the porcelain weakly. The sight, sounds and smell make Steve’s stomach turn; he walks over to the sink, runs some water into his hands, and splashes his face with it.

“I’m still here,” he calls to Stefan, running his damp fingers though his hair. Stefan hangs over the bowl; his belly feels tight and empty. He coughs and spits, then sits up on his knees, puffed. Steve returns to the stall; he leans over and flushes the toilet.

“Feeling better, mate?”

“Yeah,” Stefan says softly, “Yeah, much better.” The nausea has passed and aside from being a little thirsty, he feels fantastic. Steve helps him up to his feet and takes him over to the sink. Stefan runs some water, cups it in his hands and takes a long sip. He repeats this a few times then sighs. He remembers scooping up water earlier to throw at Brian, when they were in the ocean. Stefan braces himself as he expects the anxious sickness to return with his thoughts of Brian. He feels nervous, he decides, but also excited.

“Maybe it was the beer,” he says aloud.

“Maybe it was the bottle of vodka?” Steve suggests, scoffing. “Hey, you’re not worried about anything, are you? You zoned out for a bit there.”

“I… I’ll be alright. Nothing serious.” Stefan smiles.

“You’re not bothered about what Brian said, are you?” Steve asks sincerely.

“What? What did Brian say?!” Stefan panics.

“Y’know, about not getting any.”

“Ohhh!” Stefan relaxes, “Yeah, right. No, I’m not worried about that.”

“Alright then,” Steve motions to the door, “That’s that. Let’s get outta here.” He is thankful that due to the usual happenings in club bathrooms, their little ordeal has hardly raised an eyebrow. Stefan follows him out of the room.

“Hey, thanks.”

Steve claps him on the shoulder and smiles. They weave though the crowd and back to the bar. Steve joins the line and asks Stefan if he wants anything.

“Maybe some water? I’m just going to check something,” Stefan says and he wanders toward the exit; Steve hopes he’s okay.

Stefan heads back out the hallway to the entrance and this time finds an older guy dressed in mesh and leather standing behind the desk.

“Uh, hi,” Stefan starts, uncertain, “I spoke to someone earlier about-”

“I’ve got your pills, pretty boy.” The man says with a smirk. He reaches under the desk then slides a tiny plastic bag across to Stefan.

“Thanks!” Stefan says, surprised. He shoves the bag into his pocket. “What do I owe you?”

“If it were up to me…” He trails off and looks Stefan up and down. “Unfortunately, Jess insisted I just give them to you, went to your show or something.”

“That’s great, in Sydney, or?”

The other man shrugs.

“Well, thank you very much,” Stefan says gratefully and he strides back toward the dance floor. He finds Steve at the lounge, talking to the bikini clad barmaid. She excuses herself as Stefan sits down and returns to the bar.

“Well?” Stefan asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Don’t start,” Steve says and passes a glass of water to his friend. “We were just talking.” Stefan smiles and takes the glass. “Where were you, anyway?” Steve inquires. Stefan pulls the plastic bag from his pocket, showing Steve the pills inside; two pink, two blue. Steve glances, then picks them up and squints. He passes the bag back to Stefan, laughing loudly.

“What?” Stefan asks. He takes one out of the bag and inspects it; he realises the pink pills have imprints of little cartoon penises on them. He chuckles and pops it in his mouth, and then takes a sip of water to wash it down. Stefan turns back to Steve, “No dancing tonight?”

“Nah, I’ve attracted enough unwanted attention as it is. And I’ve had you to look after!” He adds and Stefan smiles apologetically. “Alright, I’m off to the gents,” Steve says as he stands up, “You sticking around?”

“Yeah, for a bit.”

Stefan takes another sip from his glass, watching as Steve joins the long line for the bathroom. He leans forward, rests his head in his hands and begins to breathe deeply. He wonders where Brian is. He pictures him dancing with someone else; a buff, tanned local. Stefan frowns and imagines Brian dancing alone, waiting for him. Just thinking of him makes Stefan’s heart skip; he forces himself to concentrate on breathing. In, _one, two, three_ ; out, _one, two, three_. He continues the deep breathing for the duration of the song playing. Steve finally returns and Stefan sits up quickly. He feels a rush of heat spread from his head downwards, followed by a buzzing sensation.

“You alright?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Stefan says, gulping water from his glass. Heat washes over him and he feels a little nauseous. He finishes his drink then sucks in air. His vision blurs and he blinks to keep his eyes from rolling.

“I’m not taking you back to the lavs.” Steve says, slurring slightly. He looks concerned.

“I’m fine… I’m… I’m amazing!” Stefan exclaims as he grins at Steve, his pupils widened in his sparkling eyes. Steve looks at him and laughs. “Come dance?” Stefan pleads. Steve shakes his head.

“Get out there and find Brian,” Steve suggests. Stefan’s heart soars hearing his name and exhilaration pumps through his veins. Steve motions as if to shoo him away, so he stands up and heads towards the bright lights and loud music.


	3. Chapter 3

Meanwhile, Brian sways along with the mass of men on the dance floor. He has a lit cigarette in one hand which he waves along to the melody. With his other hand, he absentmindedly fingers his crucifix. He decided not to take it off as it seemed important to Stefan earlier. He wonders why the others haven’t joined him, and hopes that Stefan isn’t upset with him. He realises he should apologise for what he said before, but thinks that Stefan also should have explained himself.

“It’s not fair,” he mutters to himself, taking a drag.

Stefan knows he just got dumped, in fact it’s _his fault_ Celeste left him. _And then he goes and kisses me, and refuses to explain what the fuck is going on!_ Whatever Stefan wants, Brian decides he isn’t going to show him any vulnerability; if something is going to happen between them, he will be the one to initiate it. He is going to be in control this time. Brian sighs and speculates again, _why now?_ _Maybe Stef is just lonely and I’m someone he can trust_. The swelling feeling in the pit of his stomach suddenly sinks; _maybe Stefan just pities me_. Brian pushes that thought from his mind and wonders again where the others are. He turns around in a circle searching for familiar faces but doesn’t find them. The music swells and around him dancers raise their arms and pump their fists in the air. He sticks his cigarette in his mouth and follows suit; nodding and clapping along as the song reaches its crescendo. The next track fades in and he thinks it sounds familiar; he takes a long drag on his cigarette and frowns as he tries to place it. The tempo builds then switches to a different beat; he’s sure he knows this one. He feels someone press against him from behind, their hands creeping around his waist and their mouth is close to his ear.

“And it all breaks down.” They sing along as the vocals fade in. Brian laughs to himself, and feels stupid for not immediately recognising the remix. However, he does identify the singer behind him as Stefan, and he relaxes into his friend’s embrace. The crowd around them begins to jump once the lyrics come in; the men all shout ‘ _lube!’_ and _‘ass!’_ in the appropriate places. Brian watches for reactions to the music and grins at the guys dancing along with exaggerated choreography.  As Stefan sings along softly, he wraps his arms around Brian and hugs him tightly. They stay like that, swaying together, until the song finishes. Brian wriggles free of Stefan’s grip and turns around.

“Hey!” He shouts over the music and Stefan smiles down at him. He rests his arms on Brian’s shoulders and pulls him close. Brian reflexively wraps his arms around Stefan’s waist and looks up at him. He notes his dilated pupils.

“You okay?”

Stefan leans in close; he has a blissful look on his face.

“I love you,” he says earnestly. Brian raises his eyebrows and tries to keep a straight face.

“Stef…” He begins.

“Brian, I do. I love you. I’m _in_ love with you.” Stefan takes a deep breath, “I just want you to know that.” Brian is lost for words; he isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or cry.

“You don’t have to say anything, just dance with me.” Stefan adds, grinning down at his friend.

“You have any more pills?” Brian asks and Stefan nods. He lifts an arm from the smaller man's shoulder to take them from his pocket, but Brian beats him to it. He slides his hands down Stefan’s back and into his pockets but he shakes his head. Brian snakes an arm around and into a front pocket; it is empty but he makes a point of slowly tracing his fingers inside. He runs his hand along the waistband of Stefan’s jeans then reaches into the other pocket. He fumbles with the bag, stroking Stefan’s thigh through the thin fabric. Stefan gasps and pulls Brian closer. He wants to kiss him, no, fuck him, right here.  Brian holds the tiny plastic bag up to the light, squinting. He pulls out a blue pill and shows it to Stefan, he looks uncertain.

“You know,” Stefan hints, giggling; he holds his fist at his crotch and points upwards with his index finger. Brian raises an eyebrow; only at a gay-bar would you find an MDMA and Viagra cocktail. He places the pill on his tongue and reaches up to Stefan, pulling his head closer and ensnaring him in a quick kiss. Stefan feels the pill in his mouth and swallows it. Being so close to Brian makes his body radiate with joy. Brian lets go of him and shakes the remaining pills into his palm; he swallows them dry, and drops the bag. He leans in close to Stefan, and rests his head against his chest. They hold each other close and rock slowly along to the music. Stefan lightly traces patterns on Brian’s back, while Brian just holds him tight. Stefan watches the lights and lasers flitter around the room; he thinks the patterns they make are beautiful. As the music’s tempo speeds up, Stefan begins to slowly pull away. He raises his arms, waving them above his head while he sways his hips from side to side. Brian watches him with a grin and begins to imitate his dance moves. Times passes quickly, around them anonymous bodies bounce and grind. Brian feels free of his inhibitions as they are well camouflaged in the crowd.

For Stefan, the music seems incredibly intense; not just loud, but powerful. The beat pulses through him; rattles every bone and vibrates through the tendons of each muscle. The sweeping melody moves him; it is fragile and profound. He is on the verge of weeping when he looks over at his bandmate and sighs. Brian is peaking; his face is flushed, he is slack jawed and his eyes roll back. Stefan grabs his hand and squeezes it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells Brian, and he means it. He leads him though the crowd toward the bar and they join the queue. Stefan gets them a glass of water each and they both drink quickly. He scans around for Steve and Brian bounces along to the beat as he waits. There is no sign of the drummer, so they turn back for the dance floor. On the way, Stefan bumps into a familiar face.

“Daddy!” He exclaims.

“Change your mind, eh?” The older man checks them out. “You guys rolling?” Stefan nods. “Here.” He pulls a small glass bottle from his pocket and passes it to Stefan; the label reads ' _Leather Cleaner'_. Brian eyes it eagerly. Stefan unscrews the lid and holds the bottle under a nostril, closing the other with his finger. He inhales deeply then passes the bottle to Brian. He feels the heat of the head rush then staggers as he is overcome with euphoria. He clutches Brian tightly, grounding himself in reality during his otherworldly experience. He thinks he hears Brian groan. Less than two minutes later, the rush has already reached its peak and subsided. He looks over at Brian and they both break into fits of giggles.

“Thanks,” Stefan says to their amused looking acquaintance.

“Come find me later if you two wanna have some more fun,” he says with a sly grin, taking the bottle from Brian.

“Okay,” Stefan agrees.

“Sure,” Brian adds. The old guy leaves for the bar and they continue to the dance floor. 

“That was,” Brian searches for the right words, “miraculous… orgasmic… supernatural… bliss…” He trails off and grins up at Stefan. Stefan smiles back, and leads them through an opening in the crowd and onto the floor. They dance their way into the throng of men, and settle on a spot close to the mixing desk. Rainbow lighting flashes around them; Stefan watches lasers paint geometric patterns across Brian’s face. He thinks it illuminates each of his lovely features and he feels himself falling deeper in love. Brian dances with his head thrown back and his eyes shut. Kaleidoscope patterns glow behind his closed lids; he senses sparks of electricity leaping from his fingertips.

“Look,” he says to Stefan, opening his eyes. The flood of colour overwhelms him; like eyesight to the blind. He gazes around the room, taking in the shapes and movement. Turning back toward his friend, Brian steps forward and strokes Stefan’s face with his hand. He drags his fingers down and traces the outline of Stefan’s lips. Stefan feels the static tingle across his skin. He gives into an urge and opens his mouth a little, taking two of Brian’s fingers inside. He sucks gently and Brian moans. Without hesitating, Brian wraps his free hand around Stefan’s neck and pulls him closer. He slides his fingers from his mouth and pushes his lips against Stefan’s. They kiss fervently; the tactile sensation is incredible and their craving for something to suck on is satisfied. Brian wraps both his arms around Stefan’s neck and stands up on the tips of his toes; he can’t get close enough. Stefan runs his hands up and down Brian’s sides, tracing ribs, his waist and his hips. He grasps his middle firmly and pulls Brian nearer. They rock together as they kiss, swaying to the techno tunes. Stefan slides his hands down to Brian’s bottom and squeezes. Brian gasps and Stefan pushes his tongue between his parted lips. His fingertips edge the hem of Brian’s dress; one hand creeps below and skims around his thigh. He drags his hand up his thigh and across to his crotch. Brian leans forward, rubbing himself against Stefan’s splayed palm; he moans into his open mouth. Stefan massages him through his underwear; he can feel Brian’s dick growing hard. He strokes his shaft roughly and Brian whimpers.

Suddenly, Stefan pulls his mouth away from Brian’s, he glances around the room. Brian looks up at him in confusion. His eyes are wide, his cheeks are rouged with passion and he pants through parted lips. Stefan smiles at him; with his hands placed firmly on Brian’s hips, he pushes him backwards, directing him a short way through the crowd until his back hits a wall. Brian beams at him, stretching up for another kiss. Stefan dodges him and swoops down; he presses his mouth to Brian’s ear and nibbles his lobe. Brian giggles. Stefan moves lower, his lips graze the other man’s neck. He plants little kisses as he trails downwards and Brian sighs. He basks in the knowledge that Stefan loves him. _T_ _his is something special;_ not just another drunk fling, a nameless groupie or fame hungry journo. He doesn’t care anymore if this _is_ just a pity fuck from his bandmate; the notion that his friend would even do that for him fills him with affection. Brian’s train of thought is derailed as Stefan latches onto the skin at the base of his neck. He bites hard and Brian moans out loud. Stefan loosens his grip and sucks the wound; Brian flinches a little.

“Sorry baby,” Stefan says softly, his mouth against his ear. Brian places his hands either side of his head and pushes him back, enough for him to look Stefan in the eye. It seems like he wants to say something but instead he pulls him forward, and presses his lips hard against Stefan’s. He kisses back zealously, and slips his hand back up Brian’s dress. Stefan feels Brian’s underwear growing damp as he rubs his erection through the silky material. Brian breaks away from him; his eyes are closed and he gasps for air. Curious, Stefan watches him as they each catch their breath. Brian lets go of Stefan’s shoulders and takes his hand, leading him through the crowded dance floor. They reach the bar and Stefan realises where they are headed. The queue for the bathroom is longer now and they are forced to join the line. They stand side by side but are no longer touching. Stefan looks over to his friend; his hair is a mess and his lipstick is smeared. He is perspiring heavily and his dress does nothing to hide his arousal. The love bite on his neck glows crimson against his pale skin. Stefan thinks he has never seen anyone look so perfect.

Brian takes a deep breath; _this is special_ , he tells himself. _It’s different this time because he really cares. I don't need_ her; _I've got Stef._ He takes Stefan’s hand again and holds it firmly. Stefan squeezes back. They finally reach the front of the queue and step inside. Every stall door is locked, bar one, which is open an inch. Stefan approaches it confidently and pushes the door; someone slams it closed immediately.

“Occupied!” They shout. Brian and Stefan look at each other, surprised.

“ _Steve_?” They both ask with disbelief.

Someone fumbles inside the stall. “Um,” he clears his throat. “Yeah, I’ll uh, I’ll meet you guys back at the hotel,” he says. Brian offers Stefan an incredulous look. He motions to open the door but Stefan grasps his hand and pulls him out of the bathroom. They glance back and Brian pauses a moment.

“C’mon,” Stefan shouts as he drags Brian along; back out onto the dance floor, then down the corridor toward the way out. He rushes for the exit but Brian slows down.

“Wait,” he says, lingering in the hallway. Brian wears a look of concern. He backs himself against the wall and pulls Stefan against him. He reaches up, and Stefan leans forward. Brian’s mouth is close to his ear. Stefan notes his friend’s apprehension and thinks he could be upset; despite this, the closeness of their bodies has him buzzing with excitement. He feels Brian’s breath against his neck.

“Do you think Steve is in there with _a guy_?” Brian asks in a  conspiratorial whisper.

“Nah,” Stefan says dismissively, but he stops and thinks. “Actually, he was talking to this drag queen earlier…” He trails off as he considers the possibility. “No, no way! He’s probably just not feeling well.” Brian looks at him quizzically.

“If he’s sick, we should go check on him,” he suggests with a cheeky glint in his eye.

“Oh?” Stefan asks, pressing himself against Brian, “I thought we were in the middle of something?” Brian gasps, and nods. “Is that still what you want?” Stefan asks; he looks serious.

“I-” Brian pauses, “You’ll take care of me, right Stef?” Stefan kisses him softly on the forehead.

“Yeah, baby,” he looks Brian in the eye, “Anything you want.” Brian isn’t sure Stefan has understood what he means, but he knows he can trust him, and that’s enough. He pulls Stefan down for a quick kiss, reigniting their arousal. Stefan grinds himself against Brian, then pulls away.

“Let’s go?”

The shorter man nods and Stefan leads them toward the exit. They re-enter the little room and the original door bitch is back; they are slumped over the desk, half asleep. They sit up as the pair exit, and gawp as they notice Brian and Stefan holding hands.

“Oh my Gods!” They exclaim, staring.

Brian winks as they leave. The couple rushes through the door and out into the alley way. It’s still humid outside, but a strong, cool wind blows off the ocean. The air tingles with electricity; Stefan squeezes Brian’s hand tight.

“A storm,” he says, eyes wide with excitement. It’s dark in the alley as the moon is hidden behind shadowy clouds. They walk back out onto the brightly lit street; a few other people are stumbling along, or are crouched in doorways. They hurry back down the road toward the pier, ignoring catcalls. The pavement footpath ends and they cut across a clearing and onto a dirt track. They are running downhill, tripping on stones and sliding in sandy patches. Brian’s hand feels clammy in Stefan’s clenched fist. They follow the path to the pier halfway, and then veer off; Stefan leads them around rocks and shrubs, rushing toward the beach. The palm trees that line the track sway wildly in the wind, and grass bushes whip their legs as they run for the sand. They reach the beach and Stefan collapses, pulling Brian down on top of him. They’re both panting, and laughing loudly. Stefan looks up at Brian; he is smiling widely and his huge eyes pull Stefan in. His messy hair blows around his face and strands stick to his sweaty forehead. His pale skin glows in the darkness.

“You’re beautiful.” Stefan says, matter-of-factly. Brian beams down at him; he is ethereal. Stefan pulls him closer and kisses him hard. Brian melts into his grasp; he moves his mouth in sync with the other man’s. Stefan runs his hands down Brian’s sides and gathers up his dress with his fingers, pulling it up roughly. A gust of wind blows sand against them, the grains graze Brian’s thighs. He ignores this and drags his crotch against Stefan’s. He moans, and grinds himself back against Brian; their bodies arching and falling like parts of a machine. Stefan hooks his fingers around the hem of Brian’s underwear and yanks the silky fabric down. He takes Brian’s cock in one hand, stroking softly. The sudden contact and cool air are intense sensations and Brian pulls his head away from Stefan’s, gasping. He grabs onto Stefan’s shirt and unbuttons it with his shaking hands. Once he opens it, he runs his hands up and down Stefan’s chest. He admires his friend’s lean physic; his sharp collarbones, flat stomach and jutting hipbones. Brian looks up suddenly and locks his eyes onto Stefan’s; he searches for sincerity. He clenches his fists as the other man strokes him harder; dragging his nails into Stefan’s skin. Stefan flinches and grips Brian’s thigh tightly with his free hand. He then slides this hand under Brian’s dress and reaches forward to fondle his sack. Brian sits up a little, allowing him better access. Stefan massages him some more, then moves his hand further forward, stroking his perineum. He then begins to tease his hole, pushing a finger in and out. Brian whimpers, clawing at Stefan’s chest. Stefan shoves another finger in and thrusts them up, then curls them around. He repeats this, over and over; Brian gasps and groans in response. All too soon, Stefan stops and pulls his fingers out.

“Stand up,” he instructs. Brian looks down at him; he seems confused and almost scared.

“It’s okay,” Stefan says. He smiles and hoists Brian’s hips up with his hands. Brian stands up with a wobble; he looks warily at his friend. Stefan sides his underwear down, sitting up and leaning forward to kiss his thighs. Brian’s confusion is lifted and he feels stupid for worrying; he takes a step back, wiggles out of his panties and kicks them aside. He stands watching as Stefan slides down his jeans, exposing his neglected dick. Mere metres away, the sea roars and waves crash forcefully against the shore. Brian’s hair is whipped around his face by the strong wind and his dress flaps against him.

“Stef…” He begins, but hesitates. Brian looks almost bashful as he stands above Stefan. He is wraithlike and it’s only his blushing cheeks and bruised neck that betray his supernatural appearance.

“It’s okay,” Stefan repeats. “I love you,” he adds, earnestly; his eyes shining with admiration. Brian smiles and falls back onto his knees. He leans over and grabs his handbag from the sand; he takes out a foil package and tosses the bag away. He crawls back to his former position and hands Stefan the condom.

“Say it again,” Brian insists, his soft voice barely audible over the howling wind.

“I love you,” Stefan repeats. He wipes sand from his sticky palm before tearing open the package and rolling the condom into his penis. He then takes Brian’s cock in his fist, his hand slicked with lubricant. He grips Brian's waist with his other hand, gently pushing him downwards.

“Again,” Brian whispers, resisting Stefan’s hold and watching him carefully. Stefan starts stroking him slowly.

“I love you. I. Love. You!” He says, grinning. In his mind, the words seem to have lost all meaning, and at the same time, taken on a whole new, wondrous one. Brian rubs himself lightly against Stefan.

“And I,” he begins, but falters. His eyes are fixed on Stefan’s, he seems to be deliberating.

“I,” he begins again, with confidence, “I want you to fuck me.”

He smirks as he slams himself down on Stefan’s cock and the other man cries out in pleasure. Having been ignored for so long, Stefan struggles not to come right away. He grasps Brian’s waist tightly and thrusts deeply; Brian raises himself up and down on his knees to match his movements. Debris and dirt swirl past them as the windstorm sweeps the beach. Stefan starts stroking Brian’s dick faster as he quickens his pace. Brian finally abandons his eye contact with Stefan, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. Above them, the dark clouds open up enough to allow a slither of moonlight through. The white sand of the beach is illuminated and Stefan watches as Brian’s pendant sparkles in the light. The silver crucifix reflects the bright moonbeams onto Stefan’s face; he is drawn to it again but this time he doesn’t touch. He is too close to orgasm to stop now, but he stares at Brian, noting his heaving chest, parted lips and closed eyes.  The little pendant twinkles like a star, glowing against the dark fabric of Brian’s dress. His tangled hair is tugged violently by the wind, but from where Stefan lies, the moonlight creates a hazy halo behind his head.

Oblivious to anything but his own pleasure, Brian opens his eyes, blinking as he adjusts to the moon’s brightness. The storm clouds have parted to show some more of the night sky. Constellations sparkle above them; the stars, and the notion of the galaxies beyond them, fill Brian with delight. Just as quickly as they appear, the moon and stars are hidden again by the heavy storm clouds. Brian looks down at Stefan, their eyes meet. Stefan can’t last much longer; he holds Brian’s dick tighter and jerks him faster. Brian whimpers and grasps at Stefan’s chest.  Stefan tenses his grip on Brian’s waist and thrusts into him with quick, powerful movements. Brian moans and his voice grows louder as he nears climax. A flash of lightning splits the storm clouds above them, and booming thunder follows. Neither man seems bothered by the oncoming storm; if anything, it encourages them. Brian’s voice cracks but he continues to moan; the sound that comes out is primal; a howl. Stefan feels Brian tighten around him as he orgasms; he follows seconds later, crying out as he comes. Stefan closes his eyes and inhales deeply; he loosens his grip on Brian and lets his arms fall to the ground. Brian looks down at him, panting loudly. He watches as a large drop of water lands on his lover’s chest. Stefan’s eyes flutter open, he’s baffled. Another fat droplet falls, and another. The pair look to the sky as the downpour begins. Brian starts laughing and he and Stefan turn to stare at each other, amazed. The heavy rain washes the semen from Stefan’s stomach and cleanses their skin of sweat and sand. Brian stands up slowly, his knees buckling a little. He scoops his handbag out of the sand and slings it across his shoulder. Stefan sits up and slides the condom off; his gaze shifting from Brian to the sea.  Huge waves roll into shore; their crests curving to catch the rain drops. Brian walks toward the water with arms outstretched, welcoming the rain. He senses each drop as it lands on him; soothing him, grounding him. Stefan listens in wonder to the roar of the ocean, the wailing wind and patter of the downpour falling to Earth. He stands up and slides his jeans on; they are soaking wet and heavy with damp sand. Stefan wanders toward the ocean and joins Brian at the water’s edge; standing behind him, he wraps his arms around the smaller man.

“It’s beautiful,” Brian mutters softly; Stefan leans his head on his shoulder so he can hear him better.

“There’s so much water,” he continues, his voice filled with awe, “Out there, up there,” he tilts his head to the sky, “Y’know, we’re mostly water. This is where we start, and where we end.” Stefan doesn’t understand what he means, but he nods in agreement anyway. Another bolt of lightning flashes above them and a booming clap of thunder follows.

“We should go back to the hotel,” Stefan suggests, his mouth against Brian’s ear.

“This is what the end of the world looks like,” Brian says, his voice is much louder now. “The end of the world and the creation of the universe,” he shouts as lightning cuts across the dark sky. “The big ba-” A crack of thunder cuts him off; he gasps.

“Bri,” Stefan starts, and the smaller man leans back against him.

“I love you,” Brian mumbles, looking out over the ocean. He feels overwhelmed by his admission; the feeling bubbling up inside him until he could no longer suppress it. Stefan thinks he must have misheard him, but his heart feels close to bursting regardless.

“I love you too,” he says softly, holding Brian tightly. “Let’s go back, okay?” Brian nods, he is awash with feelings of adoration and affection. The taller man takes his hand and leads them along the shore line; the rain shows no signs of easing. As they walk, Brian spots something strange on the sand and rushes over. He grabs it and laughs; it is Stefan’s soggy shirt. Stefan smiles and takes the shirt, shaking it out. He holds it open and chuckles, a strand of kelp still hangs from the pocket. Stefan bundles the clothing under his arm and turns to find Brian staring out over the ocean again. He takes his hand and pulls, intending to hurry back to the hotel. Brian hesitates; he reaches out his free hand to catch raindrops.

“We could take a dip?” He suggests, turning toward Stefan. Images of their earlier escapade flood Stefan’s mind, but some sensible part of him urges against it.  He considers this carefully; he can hardly see the water in the darkness, but he can hear the roar of the huge waves. An icy gust of wind blows by and they both shiver.

“But Bri, you’re already sick! And look, you could drown,” Stefan finally replies, grasping Brian’s hand tighter. “C’mon, let’s head back,” he says, smiling. Brian sighs but doesn’t argue; the way his hand feels in Stefan’s fills him with delight.

Stefan leads them along the shore and across the sand, striding up the dunes and onto a path. They follow the trail until it meets a pavement footpath and hurry ahead as the downpour continues. They soon reach the concrete steps leading to their hotel. Brian slows down, pulling his hand away from Stefan’s and fumbling through his bag as they climb the steps. He is craving something to suck on. Stefan stops and watches as he pulls out a cigarette; it immediately wilts between his fingers. He attempts to light it despite the rain but is unsuccessful. He curses and tosses the limp cigarette aside.

“C’mon,” Stefan calls, he is standing at the top of the steps, sheltered under the entrance archway. Brian climbs up slowly; before he reaches Stefan he turns and looks out over the ocean once more. He sighs heavily as his senses are overstimulated; the sounds of the storm, the scent of saltwater, and feeling of the rain and wind against his skin.

“Bri,” Stefan calls.

Brian pauses; he wants to race back down to the shore, dance on the sand and swim out to the waves. He turns toward Stefan and once he sees how concerned his friend looks, he decides against it. He is euphoric and he wants Stefan to feel the same; right now he would do anything to make him smile. Brian bounds up the steps and grabs Stefan’s hand. The Swede grins and squeezes his fist around the Brian’s fingers. Stefan pushes the glass door to the hotel but it doesn’t open. He panics before noticing a doorbell marked ‘ _After Hours_ ’ to the left of the entrance. He presses it and offers a silent prayer to the reception staff. Brian isn’t the least bit worried; he leans against Stefan, taking in the wild weather. Stefan presses the button in again; he can hear the buzzer ringing from where they stand. Finally, someone appears from the room behind the main counter; it’s the same receptionist as earlier. He rushes over to them, fumbles with the locks and then swings the heavy glass door open.

“Thanks,” Stefan says, stepping inside, eyeing the receptionist curiously.

“I, I waited,” he tells them, “I took the night shift just in case you needed something, and-”

“Thank you!” Brian exclaims, launching himself at the receptionist and grabbing him in a hug. “Oh, you’re so warm!” Brian says as he looks up at him adoringly. The young man blushes furiously, and he struggles to keep his composure as Stefan eases Brian off him. He gawps at the singer, unable to emit any sound from his mouth.

“Thanks,” Stefan says again, leading Brian toward the lift. Brian beams back at the receptionist before wrapping himself awkwardly around Stefan. They enter the lift and Stefan hits the button for the third floor. Brian backs himself against the wall and beckons Stefan over as the doors slide shut.

“That poor kid,” Stefan says, easing himself into Brian’s arms, “He’s probably catatonic now, actually no, you’ll probably roll over and find him in your bed tomorrow morning!”

Brian doesn’t appear to understand what he is talking about; the lift doors glide open and Stefan steps backward, meaning to exit. Brian pushes himself against him, his chin on Stefan’s chest. He looks up with wide, sparking eyes.

“In my bed tomorrow?” He asks, grinning up at his friend, “Can’t I stay in your room?” Stefan is surprised, and a little confused, but elated nonetheless.

“I, uh. Yeah, sure,” he answers with a smile. He wonders if Brian can feel how hard his heart is pounding.

“C’mon then,” Brian demands, pushing him backwards out of the elevator. He directs them down the hallway, coming to a quick stop at Stefan’s door. Stefan pulls his key from his back pocket and pushes it into the lock, but pauses before turning it.

“Um-”

“What?” Brian asks, noticing his hesitation.

“It’s just that, y’know, _Steve_. _Next door_.” Stefan tilts his head toward the neighbouring room. Brian frowns, confused.

“Steve?” He considers this for a moment, then teases, “What, you think he’s going to be jealous or something?”

“What? No!” Now Stefan is puzzled, “What do you mean, _jealous_?”

Brian regards his bandmate smugly. “You’re worried he’d be jealous of _you_ , sleeping with _me_ ,” he states as if it is painfully obvious.

Stefan’s jaw drops, “I, I’m what!?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Brian says, taking Stefan by the hand. “We’ll go to my room instead,” he coaxes. Stefan yanks his key from the lock and turns toward Brian, but doesn’t follow.

“Wait, Steve wants to fuck you?” He asks, attempting to process the concept in his mind.

“Stefan, _everyone_ wants to fuck me.”

Brian smirks at Stefan, oozing self-satisfaction, but at the back of his mind is the woman who no longer wants him. Stefan looks at him strangely and Brian berates himself for slipping into his persona. He doesn’t mean to make Stefan feel bad; he just wants to make himself _feel good._

Stefan notices that his expression is much softer than the leer he had worn when teasing him earlier. He watches Brian’s lips as he speaks; he is focused on their fullness as Brian utters ‘ _fuck me’_. The redness of his mouth, his massively dilated pupils, his warm, damp skin; these details lead Stefan to picture his friend in the throes of passion. Brian unlocks his door and swings it open. He tugs Stefan’s hand, pulling the taller man back into reality. He follows Brian into the room without a word, pushing the door shut behind him. Brian flicks a switch on the wall, turning off the ceiling light; the room is thrown into darkness. He leads Stefan to the bed, bumping into chairs and the cart before finding it. He sits down and sweeps the pile of clothing off the mattress roughly. He shifts himself, wriggling backward until he is in the centre of the big bed, and then pats the space beside him, motioning for the other man to join him. Stefan kicks his shoes off and sits down on beside Brian.

“Are you sure? My clothes are all wet and-”

“Then take them off,” Brian suggests casually, sitting up to untie his boots. The cool change outside has hardly affected the temperature in the room; the air is still thick with humidity. Stefan slides his shirt off, he hadn’t bothered to button it back up earlier, and tosses it on the floor. He stands up and unzips his fly; the wet jeans cling to his legs and he struggles to yank them off. He hears a thump as one of Brian’s boots falls to the floor. Stefan sits back down on the bed, feeling much more comfortable out of his sandy, soggy clothes. He considers going and taking a shower but the mattress feels too comfortable to leave. He swings his legs up onto the bed and watches Brian struggle with the laces on his boot. He finally defeats the knot, pulls the boot off and tosses it aside. Brian turns back to Stefan, his face filling with delight as he takes in the sight of his friend.

“Hi,” Stefan says, coyly.

“Hi yourself,” Brian replies, watching him dreamily. He lies back and reaches for him, pulling Stefan over so that he now kneels between his legs. Lightning strikes outside, momentarily filling the room with light.

“Kiss me,” Brian whispers. The low growl of thunder rumbles through the open window and echoes around the room. Stefan obliges, leaning down and pushing his lips against his lovers. Brian wraps his arms around Stefan, and trails his fingertips down his back. Stefan presses himself against the other man, the roughness of grit and sand against his bare skin doesn’t discourage him. Brian raises his hips to meet Stefan’s, increasing the friction between their bodies. Stefan pushes his tongue into his mouth; Brian meets it with his own, massaging slowly. Stefan skims his hand up the back of Brian’s thigh and gives his bottom a playful squeeze. Brian pulls away from him, giggling. Stefan trails kisses down his jaw then begins pecking the exposed skin along the neckline of his dress. At the same time, he slides his hand around from Brian’s ass and up to his hip; skimming his fingertips up his stomach. Brian sighs as Stefan’s soft touch sends waves of pleasure through his body. Stefan slides his hand further up his dress; Brian gasps as his nipple is pinched. He feels conflicted as the sensations overwhelm him; he wants to ask Stefan not to hurt him, but also to beg him not to stop. Stefan nuzzles in against his neck and sucks at the sensitive skin. He takes the flesh between his teeth and bites down; Brian cries out.

“Ah, Stefff,” he hisses, “Please…”

Stefan sits back and admires his handiwork; another bruise blossoming at the base of Brian’s neck.

“Take your dress off,” he commands coolly. Brian hesitates, looking up at him with huge sparking eyes. He doesn’t want to give up control.

“No,” Brian begins, and Stefan seems surprised. “I don’t… Can’t we just…” His voice trails off and he looks away.

“Brian, what is it?” Stefan asks, concerned. He pulls his hand out from Brian’s dress and leans over to cup his cheek.  Stefan leans forward, peering at his friend in the darkness. “Are you feeling okay, Bri, did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to…” He strokes Brian’s face tenderly, hoping the gesture is more comforting than his words. Brian leans his head against his palm, and smiles at him. “Do you want me to leave?” He asks softly and Brian shakes his head. Stefan slides his hand upwards, his fingers gently combing back Brian’s hair. The smaller man sighs; he's tired of games and pretence.

“I just want to feel good, y’know?”

Stefan nods, the uneasiness that fills his stomach slowly subsides. He considers Brian’s words carefully as he continues to stroke his hair.

“Okay,” he finally replies, climbing over his bandmate and lying down beside him. Brian rolls over to face him and Stefan weaves his fingers back through his hair.

“You tell me what _you_ want,” Stefan says, smiling at him. Brian sighs and nuzzles in against the other man’s chest.

“Just this,” he whispers, wrapping himself around Stefan. Stefan shifts himself slightly to better accommodate the smaller body, and then drapes his arm around Brian. He strokes his hair softly, careful not to pull any of the many knots.

“Is this good?” Stefan asks and Brian murmurs a positive response. Stefan savours the feeling of his friend’s body against his own; the cool dampness of Brian’s dress, the flutter of his eyelashes and little puffs of hot breath against his chest. Stefan closes his eyes; he isn’t tired, but since he can’t see Brian in the darkness, he instead focuses on how he _feels_. He sweeps his fingers through Brian’s hair, following the curve of his ear and tracing down the back of his neck. Brian sighs softly, snuggling in closer against the other man. Stefan repeats the pattern again and again, skimming his fingertips lightly across his delicate skin.

They lie together in silence; a digital clock on the bedside table counts down minutes, then hours. They each find ecstasy in the sensations of holding another body so close; the lightest touch sparks a jolt of pleasure. Stefan feels himself overflowing with empathy while Brian basks in the knowledge that he is loved. Little by little, the men draw closer still; their bodies wound together and limbs intertwined. The sounds of the storm seem to pass and the scent of the earth washed anew fills the air.

After some time, Stefan senses a glow behind his closed lids; he opens his eyes and sees the room softly lit. He sits up a little and looks around, blinking as his eyes accustom to the light. The curtains sway with the breeze and droplets of water glisten on the windowsill. He thinks about getting up to watch the sunrise but remembers that they have a plane to catch midmorning. He lies back down and Brian stirs slightly, wrapping his small frame firmly against him. He shuts his eyes and hopes he can fall asleep. Brian wonders if he was thinking of leaving; he tightens his hold on Stefan’s chest and then relaxes. Stefan reciprocates the hug. They may be coming down, but the close contact still causes their bodies to radiate blissfully. Outside, the ocean is subdued after the storm; the waves lap gently, washing clean the coastline. The men finally doze off as the rest of the city wakes up; morning birdsong and traffic gridlock act as a lullaby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The song referenced is the Blue Amazon remix of Nancy Boy)


	4. Chapter 4

_Ring, ring._ The sound of the telephone cuts painfully into Steve’s consciousness. _Ring, ring. No **,**_ he thinks drowsily, _I’m going back to sleep_. _Ring, ring._ He groans and pulls a pillow over his head; the ringing stops and he sighs with relief. He feels himself slipping back into the arms of sleep. **_Ring, ring_** ; it seems louder this time.

“How,” he mumbles. **_Ring, ring._** It’s a wonder he can hear anything at all over the incredible pounding in his head. **_Ring, ring._ **

“For Christ’s sake!” Steve shouts, swinging his arm over and knocking something of the bedside table. The clock radio hits the floor, the side swiping the edge of the table and flicking on the alarm. **_Ring, ring_** ; the buzzer adds to the cacophony. Steve releases a cry of frustration as he reaches over and pulls a power cord from the wall. The alarm cuts off.  **_Ring_** – he snatches up the receiver.

“ _What?!_ ” He yells into the telephone; he feels as if his skull is about to split in two.

“Fucking _finally,_ ” a gruff voice greets him, his exasperation is evident. “What the hell is going on up there? I’ve been calling the phone in Stefan’s room over and over; I didn’t think you were going to pick up either!” It’s Steve, the tour manager.

“Why didn’t you try Brian then?” The drummer asks groggily. He can picture the look of disdain on his face as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Ah,” he says sheepishly as he hears him sigh heavily.

“Where’s Stef anyway, did you guys go out last night?” He seems to already know the answer. “Jesus, Steve! What the hell possessed me to leave you three up there alone!?”

“Sorry, _mum_ ,” Steve says facetiously.  

“Listen, Stefan’s had a broken wrist, Brian’s just getting over that bloody compressed vertebra, and now his throat is fucked; you have _one_ more show to play here, if you can’t-”

“It’s fine, we had a few drinks, no one’s sick, or hurt,” Steve assures him, desperately hoping that he’s telling the truth. He hears him sigh again, and pictures him massaging his temples as he attempts to calm down.

“Alright,” the tour manager says finally, “Alright, okay. Look, you have a plane to catch in three hours. You can get an hour’s sleep on the flight but Alex has set up a few phone interviews for when you get down here-”

“ _What?_ ” Steve whines.

“In case you’ve forgotten, which it seems you _have_ , you’re actually releasing a single today!” His voice is strained; he takes a deep breath while regaining his composure. “She lined up, let’s see, two Australian radio shows and a couple more for stations in Asia. The rest we can worry about tomorrow.”

“Alright,” the drummer reluctantly agrees.

“But if you get the chance to prepare some answers,” he pauses as Steve yawns loudly. “Steve, don’t miss the flight,” the tour manager pleads.

“What, no, I’m up,” Steve stammers, jumping to his feet. “No worries, mate,” he kids, mocking an Australian accent, “See you in Sydney,” he adds, attempting to sound cheerful. He hears laugher ringing down the phone line.

 “You’ll need that positive outlook if you’re going to get Brian out of bed in time,” he says. Steve groans in response. “Alright, make sure you leave the hotel by 8.30,” the tour manager explains, “It’s a good hour to the airport. Once you get into Sydney, _straight to the hotel_. It could be another hour in the cab,” Steve imagines him counting down the hours on his fingers. “So… twelve, no, one-ish, I’ll have lunch ready when you get here- ah, and remember, the hotel’s the one in Kent Street, there’s a few with the same name. You’ve got it all written down anyhow…” Steve nods his head in response, wondering if he should be taking down notes. “Steve? Are you there?” He asks worriedly.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. All good.” He scans the room for writing implements but his focus is drawn to a pair of pink panties he notices lying on the floor. “Listen, Steve.” The manager’s voice takes a serious tone. “Alex wanted me to make this clear; no _extra baggage_ on the flight; we’ve had enough close calls already. If Brian needs Valium, or _whatever_ , to get on the plane, that’s fine, I don’t care, but no customs dramas; we’re leaving the country tomorrow with good press and plenty of record sales, right?”

“Right,” Steve parrots. He wonders if he bought someone home from the club with him last night. He feels dread rising in his stomach; _surely not._

“Okay, see you soon,” the tour manager says, he doesn’t sound confident.

“Mmm,” Steve says, his attention slowly returning to the phone call, “Yeah, see you soon.”

He hears a click as he hangs up and Steve does the same. He looks carefully around the room; there are no other signs of him having company. He trawls his memories of the night before and images of the girl he met in the lounge early that evening come creeping back to him; he sighs with relief. He staggers to the bathroom and finds himself laughing; _why on Earth am I even questioning myself_ , he wonders.

After he finishes in the bathroom, Steve wanders to the bar fridge and takes out a bottle of water. He chugs it down then belches. He lazily pulls on the shorts and football jersey he had on yesterday. His balance has returned slightly, and he thinks his headache has eased a little. He takes a deep breath and looks toward the door; he braces himself for the diva’s temper tantrum. Steve decides to check Stefan’s room first; he needs all the back-up he can get.

He knocks softly and waits; no response. He knocks again, a little louder, and then presses his ear to the door. He can’t hear any movement inside the room. He turns around and reluctantly walks over to Brian’s room. He taps his knuckles against the door three times, and then waits. A few moments pass and he knocks again; this time he listens in against the door. He thinks he hears a moan from inside the room; _oh Christ,_ he thinks, _this could be awkward._ He knocks again, banging loudly on the door, calling Brian’s name. He waits and listens for a response; he thinks he can hear someone walking around. The footsteps come closer and Steve jumps back as the door swings open. Stefan stands before him; he appears to have just thrown on a dressing gown. He studies Steve from under heavy eyelids. Steve is perplexed; he frowns as he points to the room across the hall.

“But?” He asks nonsensically, looking from one door to the other. He wonders if he has confused the rooms; _am I still drunk?_ Stefan makes no attempt to ease Steve’s confusion as he is equally baffled. Steve turns back to him and looks into the room.

“Did… is Brian…?” He is not sure whether to add ‘ _here’_ , ‘ _okay’_ or ‘ _awake’_ to the question.

“Yeah,” Stefan answers, somehow comprehending the query. Steve grins, relieved.

“You missed a call from the boss,” he tells Stefan. The bassist blinks drowsily; he isn’t particularly concerned. “We have to leave by eight thirty, he said,” Steve explains, “And, we…” He struggles to remember the other instructions. “And, uh, interviews. Phone interviews when we get to Sydney. We’ll leave that for big mouth, though, eh?” Steve says with a chuckle and Stefan nods. “I’m gonna go get ready then, I’ll leave lil’ Smiler in your capable hands.” Steve says, stepping backwards.

“Yeah,” Stefan finally agrees, slowly closing the door. Steve retreats to his room; he glances at the bedside table, intending to check the time. The digital clock radio rests on the floor beside it, screen blank. He turns on the television and flicks to a morning news program. The counter in the bottom right of the screen reads _7:25_. He watches the news highlights, there seems to be a big debate about some Chinese refugees. He stares half-interested at the screen.

_“… the refugees are being told by people smugglers that Australia welcomes any and all immigrant workers to help prepare for the upcoming Olympics…”_

 Stock footage is shown of a small wooden boat being tossed about by choppy waves, the vessel is crowded with desperate looking people. Steve makes a mental note to tell Brian about this when he starts complaining about the aeroplane.

He steals a glance toward the bed, and thinks about how easy it would be to crawl back inside. He reminds himself that they only have one more show here, before returning home for a little break.

“Yeah, right,” he mutters to himself, imagining the press spots that will be lined up for them back in London. Ten days, he thinks; a few in-store shows, a couple of live radio spots, maybe a magazine or two. _Brian will be doing most of the talking_ , he considers _, all the press are going to ask about is Bowie anyway_. He is rapt with the collaboration, of course, but he cringes thinking about the predictable interview questions they are going to face. He consoles himself with the thought that at least they will be back home. Steve pictures his flat, his own bed _; how many months have we been on the road now?_ He brims with joy as he thinks about having the chance to catch up with his daughter.

“Em,” he mouths, a broad grin filling his face as he thinks of his little girl. He feels invigorated; he’ll be home in 48 hours. And even if the next ten days are filled with mind-numbing assumptions about their working with Bowie, a whole month’s break isn’t far away. He rubs his hands together; he's ready to start the day.

Steve begins to sort his belongings and the thought crosses his mind that perhaps he should go back over and make sure the others are awake.  He wonders briefly why Stefan was staying over with Brian; it was hardly unusual, he considered, but he worries that one of them must have been unwell last night. Probably Stefan, he figures, recalling the mixed bag of pills he last saw the Swede with. He tunes in as the weather girl describes the forecast for Sydney, _wet and windy, a top of 12 degrees_. Probably the same back home, he thinks, scoffing. He would take miserable summer rain in England over the sticky heat of an Australian winter any day. Steve decides he feels considerably better than when he woke; he pats his stomach as it gurgles and hopes the churning is just hunger. He heads into the bathroom to have a quick shower and shave before having to return to Brian’s room. 

***

Stefan stands awkwardly at the end of the bed. He rubs his eyes; they feel exceptionally gritty. As he yawns he notices an ache in his jaw; he stretches his arms up and feels a dull pain in his lower back. He holds up his healed wrist and peers at it; everything seems to be working fine. Stefan assumes that this is where his luck ends.  He watches Brian sleeping; his mascara is smeared down his cheeks and his dark hair is a frizzy, matted mess. He sighs in his sleep, nuzzling into the pillow beside him; reaching for someone who is no longer there. Stefan notices how his dress is splattered with mud and his pale legs are patchy with dirt and sand; his knees are daubed with dark little bruises. Stefan can’t bear the thought of waking him up. He considers Brian’s reactions; the big come-down, he can cope with; even anger, he would welcome. But rejection - Stefan glances away as his eyes water; the threat of tears blurs his vision and prickles his nose. Rejection was all too real, too likely. He turns away and heads for the bathroom.

He washes his face with care, slowly rubbing away any sandy residue. He runs his hand through his hair and feels more grease and grime. He stares at himself in the mirror.

“Lucky it’s a _radio_ interview,” he mutters. He traces the dark circles beneath his eyes and then pokes a few zits. He glances toward the door; he decides to face this the way he had intended last night; by not acknowledging anything. His stomach spins; he will blame the alcohol, the Ecstasy; anything but the truth. He walks quietly back into the room and picks up two glasses, inspecting the residue. _They’ll do_ , he thinks, and he fills them with mineral water from the mini refrigerator. Stefan takes a deep breath and forces himself to walk toward the head of the bed. He gulps from one of the glasses as he nears Brian; he can taste the slightest hint of tomato juice in the water. He places the glasses on the bedside table and then sits down on the bed next to Brian. He takes another deep breath, holding the air in and feeling it fill his chest and belly before exhaling noisily. He places his hand on Brian’s cheek, caressing carefully before cupping it. Brian doesn’t stir. Stefan moves his hand upward, stroking the sleeping man’s hair. His action mirrors the way he had combed his fingers through Brian’s tangled locks only a few hours ago. However, this time he is brimming with anxiety, not empathy and he assumes his affection will be rebuffed rather than reciprocated. Brian sighs softly, but shows no other signs of consciousness. Stefan pulls his hand away from his friend’s forehead; in the cold light of morning, the contact feels too familiar, forbidden. He places his hand on Brian’s shoulder and shakes gently. He sees the singer screw his face up slightly, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

“Bri,” he calls in a low voice, shaking him with a little more force, “Brian.” He rolls onto his other side, turning away from Stefan, and pushes his face into the pillow. “Brian,” Stefan repeats, louder than before, “You have to wake up.” Brian mumbles something into the pillow. “ _Brian_ ,” Stefan says wearily. He pulls his hand away from him and glances back over at the clock; it reads _7:38_. He wonders if he should leave him a little while longer; after all, Steve did say they had until half eight.

He stands up and looks around the room; clothing and crockery litter the carpet. Stefan walks over and begins to pick up the outfits, slinging them over his arm. He checks the bathroom and adds more garments to his collection. He notes the plastic bag lying on the floor containing the jeans and t-shirt Brian had worn to the shoot yesterday. He leaves them, thinking that he will probably want to wear them again today. He opens the wardrobe and rolls out Brian’s suitcase. He shoves the clothing inside, before adding the remaining pieces from the wardrobe. He turns back to the bed; _if I can just get him up and into the shower_ , Stefan thinks, _then I can leave and go pack my stuff_. He has given up on the idea of taking a shower, as much as his body longs for it. He returns to the bedside and sits back down.

“Brian,” he states loudly, “You have to get up.” He receives no response; perhaps Brian is awake, but feigning sleep, he thinks. “ _Brian_ ,” Stefan says, his tone is serious; he is losing patience. He calls again and Brian rolls back over to face him. He looks up with bleary eyes and a heavy frown.

“What time is it?” He asks huskily, his voice rich with lethargy. Stefan glances at the clock beside him.

“Quarter to eight.”

Brian groans and rolls onto his back. He clamps his eyes shut, and covers his face with his hands. _Eight_ , he thinks, _why am I awake, why is Stefan awake_ ; he groans again _, how did Stefan even get in here,_ he wonders. He slides his fingers apart, and peeks through the gap. Stefan is watching him closely; his eyes are tinged red, his lids are puffy and his lips look dry and swollen. Stefan licks them nervously, as if reading the observation in Brian’s mind. _Stefan stayed the night_ ; the realisation drops like a weight in Brian’s mind, shaking him.

“Oh, God.”

Stefan gulps, assuming the worst from his reaction.

“We fucked last night,” Brian states, lifting his hands to look at Stefan.

As unwell as he already appears, the remaining colour drains from Stefan's face.

“We…” Brian laughs with disbelief, “Shit,” he says, before laughing again. Stefan stares, frozen in place. “You weren’t gonna go, were you?” Brian asks, glancing from his friend to the door and then back. He feels an inexplicable sadness welling up inside as he thinks of Stefan leaving. 

“I…” Stefan starts, and then swallows hard; he has no idea how to reply.

“You look like shit,” Brian says; the words leap from his mouth without much forethought. He is hurting, physically and emotionally; maybe he wants Stefan to hurt too. _No_ , he decides quickly, and he smiles at him, attempting to soften the blow. The bassist tries to read him; _surely he’s upset?_ Brian kneads his temples with his thumb and index finger.

“God, I feel how you look,” he says with a sigh. Stefan continues to watch him; he is now more intrigued than horrified.

“You look worse than you feel,” Stefan ventures, the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile.

“How dare you!” Brian cries. He lunges toward the other man, arms outstretched. His head spins with the sudden movement; he grasps Stefan’s collar in an attempt to steady himself. Stefan holds him by the shoulders.

“Are you okay?” He asks nervously.

“No,” Brian mutters, looking up at him. He sees how worried Stefan looks and forces a smile, adding, “But I’ll survive.” 

Brian lowers himself and sits propped up on his knees. Stefan struggles to free himself from his gaze; he finally turns away and reaches behind him for a glass of water.

“Here,” he offers, handing it to Brian. He takes the glass and gulps greedily; a stray droplet runs from his lip and clings to his chin. He finishes the drink and passes the glass back.  “Better?” Stefan asks, watching the water drop wobble. Brian wipes his chin with the back of his hand.

“Not really,” he admits. “Roll us joint, would you? I’m off to the loo.”

He lifts himself up and swings his legs off the bed awkwardly. Stefan watches him closely as he shuffles to the bathroom, still holding his hand to his forehead. Once Brian closes the door, Stefan releases a deep breath; he’s still unsure of Brian’s reaction, but his attitude is okay. In fact, Stefan thinks he has never seen Brian act so pleasant the morning after so little sleep and so many stimulants. He picks up his discarded jeans and searches the pockets for his cigarette case. He pulls it out and wipes grit from cover. He takes out his papers and a bag of dried leaves and gets to work; the scents of the tobacco and marijuana send enthusiastic signals to his brain. He licks the paper and seals it, his nimble fingers rolling quickly. He twists the ends of the joint and holds it up to admire. Sunlight filters in through the open window; he watches specks of dust float about his hand as his fingers shake slightly. He sticks the joint between his lips and pulls out his lighter; the twisted end glows amber as he lights it. He tosses aside his lighter and  inhales deeply, his throat burning as he fills his chest. He holds the smoke in a moment, and then blows it out his nostrils; the tendrils rising slowly to the ceiling. _Things could be worse_ , he muses, sucking in more smoke.  

A crash sounds from the bathroom and he leaps to his feet. Stefan rushes to the door and swings it open; Brian leans over the sink, his hands holding the basin firmly. A mug lies cracked on the tiled floor. Stefan swoops forward, wrapping Brian in his arms.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice intoned with panic. The joint moves up and down between his lips as he speaks. He feels Brian flinch and he loosens his hold on the smaller man.

“Stop asking me that,” Brian replies, scoffing. He looks up from the sink and catches Stefan’s gaze in the mirror, “I’m fucking tired, exausted! I’m aching all over, I’ve got sand in each and every crevice of my body, and,” he spins around to face Stefan, “I can hardly fucking walk, no thanks to you!” Stefan’s eyes widen, he goes to embrace Brian but decides against it, taking a step back instead.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his eyes shining with sincerity. Brian plucks the joint from his mouth and takes a deep drag.

“You will be,” he teases, blowing smoke in Stefan’s direction, his trademark smirk curling the corner of his mouth. Once again Stefan is lost for words; he expects the singer to be seriously upset with him. Brian himself can’t account for his reaction, but he is happy enough with this strange turn of events, and incredibly curious as to where they may lead. He takes another drag then passes the joint back to Stefan.

“I really do look like crap,” he says, looking up at his bandmate; his big doe eyes reddened with fatigue.

“Mmm,” Stefan agrees, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth, “You stink too,” he adds, screwing his nose up mockingly.

“Oh yeah?” Brian asks, taking a step toward him. He grabs the shrinking joint from Stefan’s fingers, then reaches over with his free hand and brushes something from his chest. “Least I’m not covered in dirt,” he taunts. Stefan scoffs; he glances down, slides his hand up Brian’s thigh and traces patches of sand.

“No?” He asks, his fingers skimming the hem of his dress. “You’re filthy, Brian,” Stefan says in a low voice. Brian grins and takes one last puff before butting the joint out in the sink. He drags his index finger slowly down the taller man’s chest, parting the fleecy fabric of the robe as he nears his navel.

“Then help me wash up, Stefan,” he commands, his voice rich with need. Brian splays his palm against his abdomen, and pushes him toward the shower. He moves backward slowly, his focus on the man before him. Brian pulls his hand away slightly as he nears the glass screen and Stefan stands still. Brian unties the loose belt around his waist and then slides his hands back up his chest; he moves them up under the gown and pushes it off Stefan’s shoulders. The fluffy garment falls to the floor with a flop.     

Brian looks him up and down; his pale body glows unnaturally under the fluorescent bathroom light. His torso reminds Brian of something carved from marble; he traces the toned flesh downwards, stroking his sculpted shoulders, collar bones, then stomach. He pauses before moving any lower, looking back up to meet Stefan’s gaze. The taller man slides his hands down his waist, his eyes still fixed on Brian’s. Stefan gathers the skirt of his dress in fists, and begins dragging it off, his knuckles grazing Brian’s hips as he pulls upwards. Stefan raises his eyebrows; he isn’t wearing any underwear. Brian simply shrugs, hardly giving pause to wonder where he left his panties. Stefan inches the dress further upwards, sending grains of sand sprinkling to the tiled floor. Brian raises his arms so Stefan can pull the garment off; he does so with ease and then tosses it aside. They both watch each other curiously, waiting to see who will make the first move. Stefan finally replaces his hands on Brian’s hips and nudges him toward the glass shower screen.

“Ladies first,” he teases, tapping his bottom gently with an open palm. Brian scoffs as he steps forward and swings open the screen door. He steps inside and turns on both taps quickly; he braces himself, expecting a stream of icy water to rush out. He is surprised when instead tepid water flows from the showerhead; the warmed pipes retaining the previous day’s heat. He fiddles with the faucets, deciding on a slightly cooler temperature. He has hardly noticed Stefan step in behind him, and jumps when he feels his body pressed against his own. He turns around slowly; there is hardly enough room for the two of them in the shower cubicle.  Stefan looks down at him, his eyes are filled with kindness but Brian feels his bravado slipping. He wants Stefan to hold him, bathe him; make him feel the same completeness inside as he did earlier that morning. Stefan reaches over and takes a small bottle from the rack. He squeezes shampoo into his palm and places his hand on Brian’s head. Brian offers him a small smile as he begins to lather his hair. He struggles not to add to the tangles, combing his long fingers gently through Brian’s locks. Stefan glances down, and sees Brian’s eyes are tightly shut, defending against any stray suds. He smoothes Brian’s hair backwards, washing out the last of the shampoo. Stefan rinses his hands under the running water then cups Brian’s cheeks. He runs his thumbs lightly beneath his eyes, softly rubbing away smeared mascara. Once finished, he continues to cradle Brian’s face, inspecting his handiwork so far. Brian’s eyelids flutter open and he gazes at Stefan with admiration. Next, the taller man reaches up and takes another bottle down; he pools an amber gel into his palm then lathers it between both palms. He places a hand on each of Brian’s shoulders and begins to massage gently. He washes his arms with quick downward strokes, then his sides with the same smooth motion. He then slides his hands back up to rub Brian’s chest. He traces around his nipples, drawing a giggle from the smaller man; Stefan gives one a tweak for good measure. Brian moans softly in response and Stefan looks up to see him biting his lip. Stefan’s hands slide downward, he works his way across Brian’s belly and around to his back. He leans in closer, his hands kneading Brian’s behind. Brian giggles again, wrapping his arms lightly around his friend’s waist.

“Thanks,” Brian says, his mouth close to Stefan’s.

“I haven’t finished yet,” Stefan says, sliding a hand around to rest on his thigh. Brian breaths in sharply.

“No?” he asks. Stefan pauses a moment, waiting to confirm that the ‘ _no’_ is a question, not an instruction. He skims his fingers over the delicate flesh to meet Brian’s hardening dick. “Yes,” Brian hisses, offering his consent. Stefan takes his penis in his hand and strokes it slowly; Brian gasps. Stefan feels him grow hard within his grasp; he grins and presses his lips lightly against Brian’s. The other man obliges, opening his mouth and sucking in Stefan’s lower lip. The shower streams down above them, the cool water refreshing their warm bodies. Brian stands directly beneath the running water but much of it bounces back onto Stefan. Drips trail his jaw, droplets run from his nose and others leap between their parted lips. Brian feels something hard pressing against his stomach; he reaches out and takes his friend’s penis in his fist. Stefan moans into their kiss, quickening the speed with which he works Brian. They both stroke each other urgently; Brian pushes his tongue into Stefan’s mouth, seeking out yet closer contact. Stefan rubs his tongue with his own, the languid movements contrasting the desperate pace his hand is working. He moves his other hand around and slides it under Brian’s sack, massaging him firmly. Surprised by the sensation, Brian bites his lip before pulling away to moan. Brian looks up at Stefan with wide eyes, his mouth hangs open as he pants. Stefan grins as he pumps Brian harder, determined to bring him over the edge. Brian moans loudly; he struggles to hold his eye contact with Stefan as he loses himself in the pleasure. He mimics Stefan’s stroke, speeding up and tightening his fist around his dick. Stefan gasps; he watches Brian’s eyes roll and his lips part. He cries out as he comes, clenching Stefan tightly; the action and visuals send him over the edge. They stand still beneath the shower, the running water washing them clean as they catch their breath. Brian loosens his grip on Stefan and leans against the tiles; the coolness soothes his aching back. He looks up at Stefan as the taller man slides his hands up to rest around his waist.

“Thanks,” Brian says, a smile playing on his lips.

“My pleasure,” Stefan replies with a smirk and Brian chuckles. Stefan feels dazed and delighted, he wonders if he should pinch himself. Brian thinks to himself that water is becoming a common theme with them and grins. Stefan notices his smile.

“What’s so funny?”

“Us… instant couple, just add water,” Brian jokes.

“Couple…?” Stefan asks, studying him with raised eyebrows. He feels his insides twist, a thousand thoughts race through his head. The weight of the word doesn’t seem to hit Brian, he watches Stefan with curiosity.

“Lovers then, whatever,” he offers, before twirling beneath the running water, rubbing off any stubborn suds. Stefan smiles, the exhilaration coursing through his body washes any negative thoughts from his mind.

“You’ll sort yourself out?” Brian asks, moving carefully toward the shower screen.

“Aww,” Stefan kids, pulling a forlorn face.

“Like _I_ could wash _your_ hair!” Brian retorts, stepping from the shower. Stefan laughs loudly.

“Hey,” he calls, and Brian turns back toward him. He looks slightly apprehensive. Stefan swoops forward and pecks him on forehead, before turning to face the running water. Brian shuts the shower screen, grinning stupidly. He can’t push the thought from his mind that this is wrong, but inside he is brimming with bliss; it feels so right.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> boring filler chapter sorryyy

“What exactly did you put in his coffee this morning?” Steve nudges Stefan, his eyes following Brian down the concrete steps. The drummer frowns as he watches Brian wave goodbye to the receptionist.

“And where do I get some?”

Stefan chuckles, and claps Steve on the shoulder.

“I must have the magic touch,” he jokes, wigging his fingers at the drummer. Steve eyes him suspiciously but ignores the comment. They meet Brian at the bottom of the steps, where he is helping a cab driver with his suitcase.

“This is too much,” Steve says, scoffing. “What have you done with the real Brian?” He asks in an exaggerated hushed tone. Brian turns to face them, a grin plastered access his face.

“What?” He asks, upon hearing his name. Stefan leans over and whispers to Steve.

“He’s tied up in the closet; he won’t be bothering us again.” They both laugh and Brian dismisses them with a flick of his wrist.

“Well, excuse me for being in a good mood!”

He stands hand on hip, dressed in the same outfit as yesterday, jeans and a t-shirt, plus a pair of large sunglasses. Although it’s early morning, the weather is already warm; Brian almost misses the silken costume from the shoot, the coolness of the fabric on his skin. However, even he isn’t confident, or crazy, enough to wear a dress to an airport; inconspicuous is in. Besides, Brian muses, that poor silk dress will be limping its way to the drycleaners right now, along with the two spoiled shirts. They had called in one last favour with their favourite receptionist; the poor guy was still behind the desk that morning. He was only too happy to arrange for the garments to be dry cleaned and then returned to the studio. Brian wondered if they would actually make it that far, and not end up pride of place in some shrine instead. He’d had the decency to hold his tongue; he wasn’t entirely sure how much the receptionist had seen and heard last night as they made their dramatic return to the hotel.

He takes a slow drag on his cigarette, and watches with amusement as the others struggle to fit their cases in the trunk of the car. He catches Stefan’s eye and smiles; his heart skips a beat and he forces himself to look away lest he start giggling like a schoolgirl. Between the three of them, Stefan, Steve and the cabbie finally manoeuvre the suitcases into the small space.

Steve checks his wristwatch worriedly; it reads _8:27_. By some stroke of luck they’re still running early, he realises with relief. They pile into the car; Steve takes the front seat, Brian and Stefan sit in the back. The driver regards them with a glower before turning up a talk-back program on the radio. It’s a short drive from their hotel on the outskirts into the city. Traffic is backed up on the main streets; the cabbie sounds his horn in a vain attempt to move the cars in front. Each of the men cringe at the sound and Steve massages his temples. While they idle, Stefan looks out his window at the ocean. Here in the city, the water front looks superficial; a thin strip of sand frames the coastline, followed by some sparse greenery. Buildings pile up from there on; he is grateful for their location further out of the city last night. Finally, the traffic jam disperses and they exit onto a motorway. Sailing down the highway, the motion of the car rocks them toward sleep; Stefan and Brian doze in the backseat while Steve eyes them jealously from the front. The driver makes no attempt to talk to him, so he pulls his cap down over his face and follows their example.

Steve is jolted from his nap as the car horn blasts into his subconscious. He slides up in his seat, stretching and yawning loudly. They appear to be at the airport, trapped in a one lane stand still.

“Shit,” Steve mutters, rolling up his sleeve to check his watch; _9:42_. That leaves them a little under an hour to check in; he hopes this is okay for a domestic flight. He twists around to find the other two men suffering from the same rude awakening. Stefan stretches his arms awkwardly, blinking in the bright light. Steve thinks he spies a scowl behind Brian’s sunglasses; he scoffs.

“What happened to Mr Happy?” He teases. Brian yawns and raises his arms, his hand brushes Stefan’s and he feels a jolt of electricity pass between them. A smile fills his face in a flash and Steve laughs.

“Christ,” he mumbles, “Let us know when you come back to Earth, Molks.” Brian screws his face up at him and Steve turns back to face the front. They start moving again, the car rolls forward slowly. Stefan catches Brian’s eye and they grin at each other. Brian feels a pinch in his neck as he turns away; he rubs it firmly as they lurch toward the taxi rank.

“The vertebrae?” Stefan asks, watching him anxiously. Brian frowns, trying to knead the tender spot.

“No,” he says uncertainly, and Stefan relaxes a little, “Probably just slept in a funny position.” He twists his neck at different angles, “I can still feel my head at least.” He hopes he’s right; the previous week his injury had not only been uncomfortable, but felt downright bizarre. Stefan leans over and taps him gently on the temple.

“Feel that?” He asks, half serious. Brian nods. He moves his fist up and knocks again, before moving down and repeating the action; Brian grins goofily.

“I’m quite alright,” he says, turning to face him, “Thank you, Doctor Olsdal,” Stefan laughs but then raises his eyebrow suggestively.

“A more thorough check-up may be necessary,” he states, trying to keep a straight face. Brian glances toward Steve; he seems engrossed in searching his wallet.

“Later,” Brian mouths, regarding Stefan with a sly smile.  They finally pull into a park and Steve hands an American Express card to the driver. The cabbie shakes his head.

“Cash only,” he says bluntly, tapping a small sign on the dashboard. Steve apologises and the trio each dig into their wallets to cover the fare before quickly exiting the cab. They pull their bags from the boot in a rush and Steve leads them toward the entrance. The woman behind the desk frowns at him as Steve offers his travel documents.

“It is customary to check in _at least_ an hour before your flight,” she says sternly. Steve mentions the traffic and smiles apologetically. She flips through his passport, noting how well travelled he is, “Really,” she says, admiring the destinations, “ _You_ should know better.” She weighs his suitcase, tags it and hands over his boarding pass, “Number eight, at ten thirty” she says, pointing to her left.

“Be at the terminal _early._ ”

She subjects Brian and Stefan to the same cool service, reprimanding them both on their tardiness. Steve wonders if even Australians suffer Mondayitis, ditching their usual laid-back attitudes. “Gate eight, don’t be _late,_ ” she warns the pair. Steve scoffs and sidles up to Stefan.

“She’d better be careful, Brian will pinch that rhyme,” he kids. They both chuckle and Brian turns to glare at him with mock fury.

“You’d better watch it, _mate_ ,” he threatens jokingly. “I’d _hate_ to see you meet your _fate-_ ” Brian cracks up before he can continue. Steve splutters with laughter.

“At any rate,” Stefan begins, about to urge them toward the terminal. He pauses and breaks into a fit of giggles: the other two follow suit.

“Don’t give up your day jobs,” they hear the attendant mutter, and they laugh even harder. Gasping for air, Brian slides a finger up under his sunglasses to wipe away tears.

Once they calm down, they heed the attendant’s instructions and slowly head left toward the departure lounge. As they near the customs check point, Steve recalls their tour manager’s warning.

“Hey,” he says, stopping; the others slow and turn back to him. “Steve, well, actually Alex, made a point of saying this morning, no, uh,” he struggles to remember the exact phrase, “No _extra baggage_.” Brian and Stefan offer him indignant looks. “Don’t shoot the messenger!” He says, raising his hands. Brian scoffs and continues toward customs. Stefan smiles at him reassuringly and they both follow Brian.

They empty their pockets and Brian also places his satchel into a tray on the conveyor belt; they then pass through a metal detector. They each feel anxious as they take their items from the trays; if any of them were subjected to a random drug check, traces would certainly be found.

“Anything to declare?” A stony faced customs officer asks them one by one as he peruses their travel documents. Stefan and Steve get past him without any further questioning but he looks Brian up and down carefully, contemplating his passport photograph.

“Lift your glasses, m- ahem, _sir_.”

Brian obliges, practically biting his tongue to keep from saying anything to aggravate the officer. He sends a silent prayer to no God in particular; _no swabs, no sniffer dogs_. The officer finally snorts, and smiles menacingly.

“Enjoy your flight, Mr Molko,” he grunts, stepping aside. Before Brian can begin to relax, another person in uniform affronts him. He feels his skin prickle with sweat but he pulls down his shades and acts relaxed.

“Just a minute,” the new officer orders; Brian glances over to see Stefan and Steve looking horrified. “Do you speak English?” He asks bluntly.

“Yes,” Brian replies swiftly, before adding, “Is something the matter?”

“Can you _read_ English?” The officer asks, motioning to a large sign hanging above them.

“Of course,” Brian answers, struggling to grasp the point of his questions.

“Then could you tell me just what that sign there says?”

The officer looks bored. Brian takes a deep breath and decides to play along with the pantomime.

“Sure,” he says, before reading aloud, “Carry on baggage; no umbrellas, no sharp objects, no aerosol- oh, shit.” Brian finally realises he is still carrying a can of deodorant in his satchel. “Sorry,” he says, and while he means it, he can’t help but grin with relief as he takes the can from his bag. The officer grabs it off him and walks back to his desk, shaking his head. The other officer joins him, they both mutter in low voices, presumably about him. Brian races toward his bandmates, beaming.

“Jesus Christ!” Steve curses as soon as they are far enough away from the customs check point. Brian glances from one man to the other; Stefan looks relieved while Steve is still fuming. “Bloody hell, Brian! How many airports have you been though!? What if you’d been searched? What if you’d missed the plane-”

“Well _if_ I’d been searched they wouldn’t have found anything, _if_ I’d missed the plane I’d get the next one. Shit, Steve, nothing happened!”

Brian marches up to a table in front of a small bistro and flops down in the nearest seat. Stefan sits down beside him while Steve stomps off inside. Brian twists around in his chair to look at Stefan.

“That was pretty fucking close,” he admits, giggling. Stefan snickers and wraps his arm around his friend.

“We were pretty worried,” he states, his face becoming serious.

“ _You_ were worried? You haven't been strip searched before!” Brian exclaims. He exhales loudly and leans into Stefan.

“Are you worried about the flight?” Stefan asks and Brian laughs nervously.

“Yeah,” he answers honestly. Stefan holds him tightly.

“I’ll get you a drink?” He suggests and Brian considers the offer.

“Maybe… I hope I’ll be able to sleep most of the time, really,” Brian says, looking up at him. Stefan tries to read his reaction behind his large sunglasses.

“Yeah, you’ll be able to snooze right through it,” Stefan agrees, giving him another reassuring squeeze. He sees Steve returning from inside and he pulls his arm away from Brian. He isn’t sure if Steve has already seen them, but something about being caught makes him feel uneasy. Brian misses his touch instantly. Steve approaches with three drinks and an apologetic smile.

“A peace offering,” he jokes, placing a tray on the table and handing Brian a tall Bloody Mary. A stick of celery bobs up and down in the red liquid, threatening to leap from the glass. Brian takes it gratefully, pushing down the celery with a finger as he brings the glass to his lips. Steve hands Stefan a steaming cup of coffee.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d want an alcoholic beverage after last night,” he jests and Stefan scoffs, before thanking him for the hot drink. “We still have twenty-five minutes til boarding,” Steve tells them as they sip their drinks. He turns to face Brian and asks, “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” he says with a smile, before taking a gulp from his glass. Steve nods and clears his throat. “Business class this time, isn’t it?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” Brian replies, taking his boarding pass from his satchel. “Wonder what the movie will be?” He asks with forced enthusiasm. Steve chuckles.

“It beats flying coach, at least,” he offers.

“Still pretty cramped,” Stefan says and his bandmates laugh.

“Says _Daddy Long Legs_ himself,” Brian kids and Steve continues snickering.

“I’m sure _you’ve_ never had to worry about that,” Stefan retorts with a chuckle.

“Yeah, you usually roll up and pop into the overhead compartment, right?” Steve teases. Brian forces a giggle; he can’t help but glance apprehensively out the window over the airfield. He finishes the last of his drink and considers ordering another. His decision is made by the announcement calling first and business class passengers to their gate. The men all stand and stretch; Stefan and Steve share a quick look of concern.

They soon join a short queue; it mainly consists of bored, bald men in suits. Steve offers his travel documents first; the attendant notes his baseball cap, overly casual clothing and well-travelled passport. She pauses briefly as she tries to place him, but soon gives up, directing him forward. Brian steps up next and she again attempts to recognise him. She studies his passport in vain then ushers him forward. Stefan is scrutinised also but once again she fails to identify him as a musician or celebrity in general. They follow business men down the jetway and onto the plane. An attendant inspects their passes as they board.

“To your left, please sir,” she instructs Steve. Next, she peers at Brian’s boarding pass, “A window seat, lucky you!” Brian forces a smile as his stomach twists and knots. “Just in front of that gentleman,” she directs him to the pair of seats in front of Steve; Stefan is instructed to take the seat beside Brian. He sits down and looks over at his friend; Brian has already pulled the blind down on the window.

“We could swap seats?” Stefan offers.

“That would only make it harder to identify the bodies in a crash.” Brian says bluntly, looking up at him anxiously.

“Oh, Bri, that’s not… don’t even think about that, I’m right here beside you,” Stefan says soothingly. Brian remains unconvinced, he slumps in his seat and folds his arms across his chest. Stefan decides to leave him alone for the meantime and watches as more people shuffle into the cabin, gradually filling the seats. He feels a jolt from behind and spins around in seat, swinging around to look behind him. Steve greets him with a grin, his knees pushed up against the back of Stefan’s chair. The seat beside Steve is occupied by someone engrossed in a broadsheet newspaper; they hold their arms open at a wide angle and the pages hang down over their knees. Steve has his hand placed on the armrest, determined not to let the other guy steal his space.

“Making friends?” Stefan jokes, pulling a face at the man behind the newspaper.

“Oh yeah,” Steve replies sarcastically, before asking in a more serious tone, “How’s Molks holding up?” Stefan pauses, and wonders if Brian can hear them.

“He’s alright,” he says, but shakes his head to indicate otherwise. Steve regards him with a worried frown.

“Hopefully they’ll start serving drinks soon, eh?” He offers. They share a knowing look; no matter how frequently they fly, the distance or the destination, Brian is inexplicitly terrified the entire time. This always ends up with him extremely inebriated. “It’s only an hour and a half,” Steve says, reassuring himself as much as he is Stefan or Brian. Stefan nods, and turns back to face the front as a tone plays over the speakers.

“Welcome aboard flight 207 with Ansett Airlines,” an overly friendly voice greets them. “As the seat belt sign is lit, we require that you now fasten your seat belts as we prepare for take-off. We will begin our safety demonstration shortly.” Flight attendants appear at the front of both rows, smiling enthusiastically as the instructional video begins to play on the large screens behind them. Stefan clips his belt around his waist and glances down to see that Brian is already wearing his. Another attendant begins to check the overhead compartments and upon reaching their seats, he leans down and asks politely that the blind be lifted during takeoff. Brian watches him with a frightened expression and Stefan leans across to open it up. He wonders how he can comfort his friend. Brian takes one brief look out the window before clamping his eyes shut. The instructional video launches into the emergency procedure; how many times now has he heard about the brace position, about the oxygen mask that will fall from above and the location of the life jacket beneath his seat. How often has he been asked to note the lighting in the aisles leading to emergency exits, and to always ensure that his oxygen mask is fitted before assisting others, he considers miserably. The plane starts to roll, beginning its slow journey toward the tarmac. Brian holds himself tightly; he can feel his chest constricting and his insides churning. He tries to focus on breathing, and not on the calm instructions being issued over the speakers.

“Large inflatable slides will open from the sides of the plane allowing a fast and safe exit in the event of such an emergency,” a cheerful voice chirps. He tries to push the image from his mind but can’t help but think that slides are of little use during a free fall, or a fiery explosion. He pulls his arms away from his chest and attempts to breathe deeply; he holds onto the armrests, clutching desperately. He feels pressure against his clenched fist and dares to take a peek; Stefan rests a hand on his, holding it loosely. The bassist is watching him with great concern, Brian realises, feeling guilty.

“I’m okay,” he lies and Stefan’s frown deepens as he continues to monitor him. He slides his fingers around Brian’s and holds his hand firmly; Brian grasps him back. “I’m okay,” he repeats, perhaps for his own benefit rather than Stefan’s.

“You will be soon,” Stefan offers reassuringly, squeezing his hand as they begin to speed up along the runway. They bounce in their seats as the plane starts to lift from the ground; Brian tightens his grip on Stefan’s hand and squeezes his eyes shut. He leans back in his seat as the aircraft finally leaves the ground. Brian holds his breath and his stomach turns with the force of the takeoff. The nose of the plane is turned up at a sharp angle as they begin their assent; all Brian can imagine is falling backward down to Earth.

“Just concentrate on breathing,” Stefan says to him, and he releases the pent up air, exhaling loudly before refilling his lungs. As they climb higher, the plane comes to sit at a less dramatic angle; the illusion of free falling no longer threatens Brian. Eventually, they reach the correct altitude and plane begins to travel in a straight line. A _ping_ sounds and the seatbelt sign goes dark.

“Passengers are advised that they may now leave their seats, and electronic devices may now be turned on. Please keep your seatbelt fastened while seated. Food and beverages will soon be available, thank you.”

Brian loosens his grip on Stefan slightly, sighing deeply. Stefan smiles when he opens his eyes.

“I’m okay,” Brian states once more, wanting to avoid his gaze, but not yet ready to let go of his hand. Stefan feels a kick against the back of his chair; he swings his arm around behind him and offers Steve an awkward ‘thumbs up’ gesture. Brian watches him but is still too distracted to care what he is up to. He glances to his left and slams down the blind before he can be confronted by the dark clouds looming outside the window. Stefan squeezes his hand again and Brian turns back reluctantly.

“No more motivational speeches,” he pleads, his voice strained. Stefan is a little taken aback, but tries not to let the offence show.

“Want me to get your Discman down?” He asks, motioning to the overhead storage compartment. Brian nods, again feeling guilty for his behaviour. Stefan unbuckles his belt and stands slowly, cautious of the low ceiling. He pulls his hand away from his friend’s as he moves for the aisle; Brian hesitates before releasing him from his grip. Stefan flips the door up and pulls Brian’s satchel forward. He digs inside and finds the CD player, pulling it out carefully as the attached earphones catch on other items inside the bag. He feels around in the bag for a CD wallet but can’t find it. He shuts the overhead door and slides back into his seat.

“I couldn’t find your CD case,” he says as he hands the Discman to Brian. He is looking out over the seats, searching for an attendant pushing a drinks cart.

“Doesn’t matter,” Brian mumbles, taking the CD player and pushing a bud into his ear. He fights with the tangled wire before popping in the other ear bud. Brian panics briefly, wondering when he last changed the batteries; he holds down the play button and breaths a small sigh of relief when the digital display lights up. He presses the play button once more and the player whirs as the CD spins. A soft guitar melody plays, followed by a familiar voice; the rich vocals washing over him like waves. He focuses on the lyrics and conjures up images of cruising down a highway in his mind. _Faster and faster, faster we go_. The words remind him that they are hurtling through the sky in an aluminium capsule; he presses the fast forward button, skipping to the next track. Guitar feedback rings in his ears; a jarring melody and beat start thumping, soon joined by distorted vocals. Brian concentrates on dissecting the sounds and studying the lyrics. His body begins to relax and he finds himself smiling at the third track. He is reminded of the song’s hero, with whom he had identified with so much he had worn a t-shirt proclaiming that he too was _Pissboy_. He finds himself thinking of his mother; he recalls the house where they lived in Dundee, the way it smelt, the beige wallpaper of his bedroom and how the filtered light looked streaming in his bedroom window. He daydreams about lying on floor, balls of screwed up paper surround him as he tears pages of his poetry from a journal. He begins to doze, the images slipping away as he falls into a light sleep.

Stefan watches him closely; he feels relieved at first as he sees Brian relax but then worries as he watches him wriggle in his seat. He thinks he has fallen asleep, but it's hard to tell. He desperately wants to take Brian’s hand or hold his shoulder but he doesn’t dare touch him. If he has fallen asleep, Stefan decides, the worst thing he could do is wake him now. He twists in his seat and swings around to look at Steve; he has plugged his complimentary headphones into the armrest and is focused on the film playing. Stefan turns back to face the front of the cabin and glances at the large screen; it is _The Sixth Sense_. He rolls his eyes; how many times now have they seen this stupid movie, he wonders. He thinks about spoiling it for everyone, crying out “ _He’s dead!”_ But he wouldn’t be surprised if the other passengers have seen it just as many times as them. He settles into his seat and takes the magazine from the pouch in front of him. He flips through and finds that it’s nothing more than a glorified catalogue, with a few press releases thrown in for balance. He wishes he has bought his book on board and forces himself to turn back to the front of the magazine and read it from the beginning.

***

 _Ping,_ “Good afternoon passengers, as we are approaching our destination, the seatbelt sign is now lit. You are required to return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts as we prepare for landing. On behalf of your pilot, thank you for flying with us today, we trust it has been a pleasant experience.”

Stefan lifts his head and blinks: _I must have dozed off_ , he realises, relieved he no longer has to endure the tedious magazine. He takes it from his lap and shoves it back into the pouch in front of him. He then cautiously turns toward his bandmate beside him. Brian doesn’t seem to have moved, in fact, Stefan notes happily, he still seems to be asleep. Brian’s sunglasses have slid down his nose; they threaten to fall off as his head nods with the motion of the plane. He knows better than to expect him to remain calm during landing, but he savours the silence while it lasts. The male attendant returns, checking each that each passenger is wearing their seatbelt; once again he asks that the blind be lifted on the window. Stefan begins to argue but at the risk of waking Brian he complies; he leans across carefully and eases the blind up slowly. Brian doesn’t budge. Stefan sits back into his seat and continues to observe his sleeping friend.

“Staff, please be seated for landing,” the pilot instructs and the nose of plane gradually tilts downward. Stefan watches Brian with bated breath; _any second now_ , he thinks, frowning. The aircraft shakes as it descends; Stefan glances from the window back to Brian, monitoring them both. The ground is very close now, he can see the tarmac. They land with a bump and Brian wakes with a jolt. His glasses fall from his nose and he stares up at Stefan with a look of sheer terror. Stefan takes his hand again.

“We just landed,” he explains, and confusion replaces the dread on Brian’s face. “We’re on the ground,” Stefan assures him. Brian twists around to look out the window; he notes the tarmac and the green fields that surround it. He flops back into his seat and sighs deeply. Stefan wonders if he more relieved than Brian himself. Feeling his touch against the back of his hand, Brian turns back to face him.

“Thanks,” he says, sheepishly. Stefan says nothing but squeezes his hand once more before pulling away. Brian pulls his ear buds out and wraps the cords around the Discman, tucking the ear pieces beneath the wire to hold them in place. The aeroplane finally comes to a stop and the businessmen around them leap up to unpack their luggage from the overhead compartments. The man beside Steve climbs over him in a hurry, leaving his newspaper strewn across the seat. Stefan knows rushing won’t get them out any faster and sits patiently; he is still amazed at how smoothly the flight went. Steve stands up behind them and leans over Stefan’s seat.

“They cut the end off the film!” He says grumpily.

“He’s dead,” Stefan replies, looking up at him.

“ _I_ know that!” Steve states, “We’ve only seen it sixty odd times. But what if someone hadn’t! They can’t just stop it with a twist like that coming up!” He shakes his head and Stefan chuckles. “I didn’t hear a peep out of you,” Steve says to Brian, his tone is friendlier now. Brian turns to look up at him, offering a weary half-smile in reply. Steve looks back to Stefan, hoping for an explanation but the Swede just shrugs. “You really have swapped him over,” he jokes before sitting back down in his seat. Stefan scoffs and glances back at Brian; he still looks dazed, but the fear has left his eyes. Around them the other passengers have started shuffling toward the exit. Once the cabin empties Stefan slides out of his seat and takes Brian’s satchel down from the overhead compartment. He hands it over and heads down the aisle. Brian follows and Steve tags along behind them.

Once inside the airport they line up in the queue for security and customs. Much to their relief, they are hurried through by stressed out staff. They join the crowd at the luggage carousel, each man carefully eyeing every item that passes them on the conveyor belt. Steve steps forward first, grabbing his case and gloating as he rolls it back over. Stefan then spies Brian’s suitcase coming down, he heads for the carousel but Brian darts ahead and drags it from the platform, a look of relief fills his face. They wait another ten minutes; fewer and fewer bags are sliding down onto the conveyor belt. Stefan begins to panic, glancing around the hall to check that someone else hasn’t taken his luggage by mistake. Finally, a blue case slides down and Stefan rushes for it, quickly pulling it onto the ground. They head for the bathrooms at Brian’s instance, then walk toward the taxi rank; Steve repeatedly stops to drag the other two away from store fronts. Brian puts up a fight at first but then gives in; he doesn’t want to draw any attention to himself. As soon as they step outside Brian pulls out his cigarette pack and lights one up. He takes a deep drag and sighs blissfully as he exhales. Steve approaches a taxi and sticks his head inside. He talks to the driver for a few moments, pausing to dig around in his case for the address, then returns to the others with a triumphant air.

“Let’s go,” he says, hurrying them into the car. Steve takes the passenger seat while Brian and Stefan hop into the back again. The driver warns Brian to wind his window down if he is going to smoke and he obliges happily. The road is free from traffic and they soon come into the city. The driver makes sure to take them to their hotel via the scenic route; he is determined to get the best fare possible from the tourists. Having only left Sydney two days earlier the band are not particularly impressed with the famous harbour, bridge or opera house.

“Have we got far to go?” Steve asks impatiently, guessing what the taxi driver is up to, “We just want to go straight to the hotel.” The driver clears his throat awkwardly.

“Sure mate,” he says, making an unnecessary turn, “What street did you say it was again?”

“ _Kent Street_ ,” Steve stresses, glancing at his watch. They are running a good half hour earlier than the tour manager had anticipated. They turn into a busy intersection and the driver acts uncertain as they drive along.

“There’s a few hotels by that name,” he says, “Could be the one down here, are you sure it’s in-”

“ _Kent Street_.” Steve repeats sternly. They take a left and the driver reluctantly pulls up at the front of the hotel. Stefan hands over cash before the driver can complain and they climb out of the car. The cabbie doesn’t bother to help them unload their cases.

“What a _kent_ ,” Brian kids as the taxi speeds away and the others chuckle. They enter the hotel and head for the reception desk. Brian thinks of their receptionist from last night and cringes. Steve approaches the young woman behind the desk; she regards him with curiosity.

“Good afternoon sir, do you have a reservation?” She asks, flashing a bright smile.

“Yeah, for three, under the name Steve Chapman,” Steve answers.

“Just a moment,” she says sweetly, while scanning her computer screen. “Here we are, we have three wonderful suites for you gentlemen, please wait one moment while I get your keycards.” She hurries into the adjacent office. Steve turns to Brian and raises his eyebrows suggestively; Brian grins and mirrors the action. Stefan watches the exchange silently, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy he feels. The receptionist returns in a rush, and hands the three plastic cards to Steve. “You’re on the fourth floor. I’ve called for someone to help with your luggage if you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment.” she explains.

“Thanks, but we’ll manage ourselves,” Steve replies.

“Of course. Is there anything else I can do for you?” She adds politely. Steve grins, and considers asking her to join him for a drink. He decides against it; he's better off trying his luck after he scrubs up for the show.

“Yeah, could you call Steve and let him know we’re here?” He asks, walking toward the lift. Brian enjoys watching the exchange; to his amusement it sounds like Steve is referring to himself in the third person. The receptionist is only too happy to oblige, and begins making the call as they roll their cases down the foyer to the elevator.

“Mr. Chapman?” They hear her ask into the phone, “Your guests have just arrived. Yes, of course, thank you.” Stefan hits the up button on the elevator and one set of chrome doors slide open. They move inside with waning enthusiasm; Stefan presses the button for the fourth floor. They stand in silence as jazzy muzak plays; Steve’s stomach rumbles loudly.

“Lunchtime, is it?” Brian teases.

“You bet,” Steve says with a smile, rubbing his belly. The doors open and the group exit onto the fourth floor.

“What numbers?” Stefan asks, taking the lead. Steve shuffles the cards in his hand.

“Four oh five, oh seven, oh nine,” he answers. Stefan moves quickly down the hallway, looking from one side to the other, before coming to a stop in front of a door.

“I’ll take this one,” he says, motioning to the door of room 405. Steve hands over a plastic card and moves toward the next door. Brian hurries after him, trying to catch Stefan’s eye as he passes. “Mine!” Brian calls upon reaching room 407, pushing Steve out of the way cheekily. He laughs and shoves Brian back.

“Lazy bugger!”

Brian pokes out his tongue and holds his hand open for his keycard; Steve passes it to him before moving on to the last room. Stefan stands watching inquisitively; Brian notices him and grins. Steve heads inside his room without hesitation and pulls the door shut behind him with a bang. Brian glances over then immediately turns back to Stefan.

“Thought it might be _convenient_ if I was next door,” Brian says, looking at Stefan meaningfully.

“Oh?” Stefan replies, still feeling slightly envious.

“Mmm,” Brian says, checking behind him before approaching Stefan. He wraps an arm around the bassist and leans his chin on his chest. “Since you took such good care of me earlier,” Brian starts, sliding his hand into Stefan’s front pocket, “I’m sure I owe you a favour.” Stefan scoffs, but the suggestive words set alight sparks in his mind and body. He feels himself drawn into Brian’s blue-green eyes; his pupils wide with lust.

“Well, I did have a check-up to complete,” Stefan says in a low voice, weaving his arms around Brian’s waist.

“Oh, yes,” Brian agrees, “I need your help, Doctor; sometimes I get so flushed…” He pushes his body against the other man, and then stretches up, locking his lips with Stefan’s. He ends the kiss quickly, and gazes up at him. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Brian asks.

“ _Now?”_ Stefan is taken aback; he glances around anxiously before looking down to Brian. “We can’t,” he says regretfully.

“We _can_ ,” Brian persuades, stroking his thigh through the thin fabric lining his pocket. He pulls his hand away and plucks Stefan’s keycard off him, then slides it into the slot above the door handle. A small light flashes green and he presses down the handle; the door swings open. Brian grabs him by his belt and pulls him into the room. He shoves Stefan back against the door with surprising force and pushes himself against the taller man. Brian reaches up and pulls Stefan’s head down, catching his lower lip with his open mouth. Stefan kisses back without hesitation, wrapping his arms back around Brian and sliding his hands beneath his t-shirt. Brian moans into the kiss as Stefan’s touch sends shivers down his back. A door slams out in the hallway and Stefan jumps; he unconsciously relaxes his grip on Brian. The singer pulls away from him slowly, leaving a lingering impression upon Stefan’s lips. Brian takes a step back; Stefan still holds him loosely around the waist. He looks up at him with a curious smile before pulling his arms down; he slides his hands down Stefan’s shoulders and gently pushes himself free of his friend’s hold. Brian turns and stalks off into the bathroom without a word. Stefan leans back against the door, admiring the way his body moves and how his ruffled hair sits. A knock sounds out behind him, someone’s fist pounding directly behind his head; Stefan swears in surprise. He spins around and swings the door open; he is greeted by Steve the tour manager.

“You’re early!” He exclaims with obvious joy.

“What were you expecting?” Stefan asks and he raises an eyebrow.

“After this last week, _well!_ I was half expecting a call from a gaol or a hospital; the hotel at the very least. Colour me amazed that you’re all here in once piece,” he says cheerfully. His voice then takes a more serious tone, “But uh, what about Brian, is he-”

“Is he _what_?” Brian calls out, emerging from the bathroom. Both Stefan and Steve are surpried by his sudden appearance.

“Jesus Brian, what are you doing in there?”

“I wanted to compare the lighting in Stefan’s bathroom before I settled on mine,” he answers without missing a beat. Stefan lets out a small sigh of relief, amazed once again by Brian’s quick thinking.

“Lighting?” The tour manager asks, confused.

“You can’t expect me to do my makeup in a poorly lit room, really Steve!” Brian explains, his diva side in full swing. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Righto. Well, Princess, you’ve got an hour to preen yourself before the phones start ringing. Alex has set up interviews with a radio show in Japan, another in Singapore, then we’re going to the Triple J studios after sound check.” Brian groans and looks over to Stefan; they share a look of resentment. Steve ignores them and adds, “Lunch is on its way. Try and work on some answers in the meantime.”

Stefan nods and Steve leaves the room in a hurry. Brian wanders over to where Stefan is standing and leans against him, sighing loudly.

“Still have that number?” He asks, looking up at Stefan hopefully; the Swede regards him with confusion. “We’ve gotta score,” Brian prompts him and Stefan nods with realisation.

“Yeah, in my…” Stefan’s voice trails off as he looks around the room for his suitcase. He goes to the door and notes the two cases parked outside; abandoned in their haste earlier on. He takes his suitcase by the handle and rolls it inside the room. He throws it open and rummages around before pulling out a notebook. He flips through carefully, skimming the scrawl of each recent entry. He finally settles on a page and taps a circled number, “James, wasn’t it?” He asks Brian, who claps eagerly in response. Stefan hands him the notebook, careful not to let any loose pages or slips of paper escape. Brian takes it from him and moves for the door.

“I’ll go get in touch with our dear friend James and be back for lunch in a tick,” he says excitedly. Stefan can’t help but smile seeing him so animated. “I know we were in the middle of something,” Brian adds as he leaves, “But I’ll make it worth your wait.” He turns back to smirk at Stefan before disappearing down the hallway with his suitcase. Stefan grins, resisting the urge to pull him back into the room; to pin him down on the bed and feel him writhe underneath him as he kisses him hard… Stefan licks his lips lightly and savours the memory of Brian’s mouth against his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Brian is listening to Dream City Film Club's self titled album)


	6. Chapter 6

“Welcome back, you’re listening to Afternoon Delights with Anna on Triple J! I’m here in the studio with Placebo-”

“Hello Australia,” Steve says, snickering as he leans in toward the microphone.

“How are you finding Sydney?” The host beams at the band. Brian isn’t sure if she’s a fan but her effervescent personality makes for a nice change following the other dull interviews.

“We were only here on Saturday,” he says facetiously, “Not much has changed.”

“It’s strange being here in the winter,” Steve adds, “Like a different country. No one back home is going to believe we’ve even been here if we don’t come back with a tan.”

“I can’t imagine you’re the kinda guys that hit the surf though?”

“Actually we did a photoshoot at the beach yesterday, in Brisbane. It was lovely, we went for a little swim afterwards,” Brian catches Stefan’s eye and the bassist blushes.

“I hope you remember to slip, slop, slap,” the radio host says with a giggle.

“To _what?”_ Steve asks.

“Sounds a bit kinky, what exactly are you inferring?” Brian inquires.

“Slip on a shirt, slop on some sunscreen and slap on a hat,” the host explains, reciting the jingle.

“Oh, right! Well no, I had a parasol, but I’m still sunburnt,” Brian rolls up the sleeve of his t-shirt to reveal a scalded shoulder.

“Listeners, before the phone lines go nuts, I can clarify that it’s Brian’s arm that’s burnt, not his face, you can all stop worrying now.”

Brian chuckles, “Thanks for the concern though,” he adds, his throat catching.

“Your brand new single, Without You I’m Nothing, was released today! Can you tell me, what was it like working with David Bowie; he must be a big inspiration of yours.”

Brian sighs internally but offers a bright smile to the radio host.

“We feel very privileged, of course.” He takes a sip of water after answering; his throat feels tender and swollen. He wonders if spending the night out in the rain has worsened his tonsillitis.

“How did the collaboration come about? What was the recording process like?” The host prompts.

“Well, David actually wanted us to play it together at the Brit awards, but the organisers preferred 20th Century Boy, we’d just done that for the film Velvet Goldmine. So, David still loved the track, he called us up and he had written his harmonies and wanted to sing on the track. Well, we could hardly say no, could we!?” Brian jokes, recalling the event enthusiastically, “We were in New York at the same time and he came into the studio to record it.”

“It was a very humbling experience,” Steve adds. Stefan nods in silent agreement.

“It was actually quite surreal, standing in the studio, hearing him sing our song. And then telling him, _David, you know, I think you can sing a little better_ ,” Brian says, cackling.

“You were only just here a few months ago, how does this tour with Silverchair compare?”

“You know, we were just at the venue for soundcheck, before we got here, and there are kids already lined up all the way down the block. We were very excited to be playing all ages shows this time around; with teenagers there’s so much energy and excitement and we really thrive off that. The kids who came to see Silverchair, there was a raw energy, perhaps all that pent up angst, blossoming sex drives. We seem to appeal to that sort of audience, so the interaction has been fantastic, yeah.” Brian takes a sip of water once he finishes. 

“Did you hear what Daniel Johns said about you skipping out on last night’s show in Brisbane?” The host asks with a wry smile.

“No! What?”

“Apparently he told the audience, the rather disappointed audience, I hear, that _he’s_ performed with a sore throat before.” The band laughs.

“Well, good for him,” Brian says before taking another sip of water. “Poor Danny was just upset I wasn’t around to help with his make-up anymore.”  Stefan scoffs and the host sniggers.

“We are sorry to any fans we let down last night,” Steve adds, “Believe me, you’re better off not having heard Brian sing yesterday!”

“Hey!” Brian complains as he swats him.

“No hard feelings then?” The host asks.

“Oh, course not!” Brian says in a saccharine tone, “We got along very well with Silverchair actually, and their girlfriends…”

“Their mums too,” Steve offers, laughing. The radio host struggles to hold her composure, turning away from the microphone to giggle. After she calms down, she asks them, “Tonight marks the end of the Australian leg of your tour, can fans expect anything special at this last gig?”

“David Bowie,” Brian begins, “… won’t be there.” They all laugh.

“Our support band has a young female singer-” Steve starts.

“Killing Heidi?” The host asks, glancing down at the gig flyer amongst her notes.

“Yeah, and if she’s a diva too you might get to see her and Brian in a catfight,” Steve kids.

“Only if she tries to outdo me, turns up in a shorter skirt or nicer makeup. If she looks better than me-”

“She’s a sixteen year old girl!” The host says.

“She doesn’t stand a chance,” Steve states and Brian cackles.

“I’ve been talking to Placebo, they’re playing the Metro tonight. Here’s their brand spanking new single, Without You I’m Nothing _._ Stay tuned for your chance to win a signed copy!”

The opening bars of the track fade in and the trio remove their headphones. The host thanks them and her producer asks them to sign the aforementioned CD. They get their photo taken with her and some other members of staff before meeting their tour manager in the lobby. He congratulates them on the interview and they head outside to their waiting van. They pile into the back and Brian lights up a cigarette. He takes a drag then splutters as he exhales, coughing as the smoke irritates his already sensitive throat. The others watch him with worried expressions.

“Will you be alright for tonight?” The tour manager asks, passing him a bottle of water. Brian clears his throat.

“Yeah, I think,” he sounds uncertain.

“Might help if you’d steer clear of the fags,” Steve berates him, eyeing the cigarette between his fingers.

“Ooh, don’t say that, you’ll hurt Stefan’s feelings!” Brian jokes, his voice husky. The group laughs, but the men are still concerned about Brian’s health. “Really, I’ll be fine,” he says, taking in the apprehensive faces around him, “The doctor in Melbourne said I was on the mend! Besides, it’s one show, and once we’re home it’s almost two weeks before we play again.”

“You have other commitments though,” the tour manager states.

“These two _can_ talk too, you know,” Brian says looking to Stefan and Steve. “Let them do the media circuit and I’ll take a little break to rest my poor voice,” Brian suggests, grinning as he drags on his cigarette. Stefan feels anxiety brewing in the pit of his stomach as he imagines taking on all the upcoming interviews alone.

“Yeah right, you couldn’t keep your big gob shut even if your life depended on it,” Steve jests. Brian pokes his tongue out and Steve shifts away from him with exaggerated horror.

“Hey, keep your germs to yourself!”  

They soon arrive back at the hotel and the group linger in the lobby as the tour manager enquires at the reception desk, checking for missed phone calls and faxes. They then head for the lift.

“I’ll arrange for meals now,” the tour manager explains, then we’ll head for the venue at, say,” he checks his watch, “We’ll aim for seven.” The band agrees to the schedule; they’re delighted to have a few hours of free time. The tour manager exits the lift and hurries straight for his room, calling “Catch you guys later!” The trio stand about in the hall, attempting to plan their evening.

“Let’s go out, find that bar we were at Saturday night!” Steve suggests. Stefan wishes he could stay at the hotel, just him and Brian, but acts enthusiastically toward Steve’s idea.

“I’ve got to hang about here and wait for our delivery boy,” Brian says, looking disappointed.

“Same guy, same stuff?” Steve asks and Brian nods. “Nice. Alright, let’s just stay in then and have a few beers,” he says as he starts to walk away, “I’ll go see if Bill or any of the crew are still around.” Once he is out of earshot Brian turns to Stefan.

“I was kinda hoping we’d get some time alone,” he admits, brushing his hand quickly against the other man’s.

“Me too,” Stefan agrees, smiling shyly at him. Brian glances back down the hallway to see their drummer returning from another room.

“He said the others are staying down near the venue, and he’s busy, so it’s just us three!” Steve grins at his bandmates, “I’m going to lie down for a bit, let me know when the food gets here, yeah?”

“Sure, I might do the same actually. They’ll probably bring it to Stefan’s room, so you can come get us,” Brian instructs, looking up at Stefan with a playful smile.

“Sure,” Stefan agrees, slightly confused. Steve leaves them and walks back to his room; Brian makes a point of returning to his suite also. Stefan walks the short distance back to his door and opens it; the large room is at once unfamiliar and recognisable. He hardly got a chance to look at the room earlier, but as he glances around he realises that it is much the same as any of the hundreds he has stayed in the last few years. Cream walls, a plush sofa against one wall, a bed opposite; a wardrobe on the adjacent wall. The door beside the sofa leads to a bathroom; wall to floor white tiles with the surprising addition of a large bathtub. He doubts he will have a chance to use it but the thought makes him feel more at home. He returns to the larger room and sits on the side of the bed, emptying his pockets onto the small table beside him. As he pulls out his cigarette case, he flips it open to check his papers. He notes the plastic bag inside with astonishment; it holds a small amount of weed.

“Fuck,” he mutters, imagining the possible scenarios at the airport earlier. It was totally unlike him to forget about his stash; _this thing with Brian is messing with my mind_ , he realises. Once his shock subsides, he decides to make the best of the situation and rolls his remaining tobacco and marijuana into a joint. He takes a quick look toward the door, wondering how long he should wait before going to visit Brian. He takes his lighter from the bedside table and fiddles with it, flicking it open and closed. He stands up and makes his way slowly across the room; a glass door leads out onto a tiny balcony. He can just see the harbour; the view is unimpressive when framed by gloomy weather and the dull cityscape. He leans against the railing and sticks the joint in his mouth; he cups the end as he lights it, sheltering it from the cool breeze. The paper catches and glows orange; he inhales deeply, filling his lungs until they burn. He tips his head back and blows the thick smoke out in streams. His throat tickles and he wonders if he has caught Brian’s bug. He scoffs and considers that he has caught something much worse. The very thought of his bandmate sends his heart racing; quite an unnatural symptom.

“Shit,” he mutters, remembering his endless confessions of love last night. He takes another drag and recalls Brian’s own admission; _that was only because of the E_ , Stefan chides himself. He wonders if Brian knows how he really feels; does _he_ even know how he really feels? He sighs and brings the joint to his lips once more. Stefan hears a noise from inside his room; he turns to see Brian sauntering toward him. He regards him with a mixture of confusion and delight; Stefan’s worries are pushed to the back of his mind.

“Your door is unlocked,” Brian informs him as he steps onto the balcony.

“I thought I was meant to come see you?” Stefan asks.

“Patience is a virtue,” Brian says with a grin, “And I’m not known for my virtues.” He eyes the joint between Stefan’s fingers. “Is that-”

“Mmmhmm,” Stefan says, smiling mischievously.

“You naughty boy!” Brian exclaims, snatching it from him and taking a drag.

“Well,” Stefan teases, “You do know what they say about a friend with weed-”

“Shut it,” Brian warns. He coughs as he exhales and Stefan frets watching him.

“Are you alright?” The Swede asks, “We could go to a doctor, or a pharmacy?” Brian regards him with a cynical expression; he clears his throat before taking another puff.

“And what good would that do, really?” Brian retorts, combing his hair with his free hand. He notices the hurt on Stefan’s face and adds in a softer tone, “You know I prefer pharmaceuticals of a different nature. Besides,” he pauses to blow a stream of smoke from pursed lips. “I believe I already have an appointment with a certain Doctor Olsdal?” He smirks and takes one last drag before tossing the butt to the ground. Stefan chuckles as he moves toward Brian; he slinks his arms around the smaller man’s waist and pulls him in close. Brian doesn’t resist but he looks up at him curiously.

“Someone could see us,” he says, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. While Stefan would usually be struck with anxiety, he feels surprisingly at ease; placated by the pot and Brian’s presence.

“Good,” he replies, swooping down to kiss him. He catches Brian’s lower lip between his and sucks gently; Brian moans softly. His apprehension fades and desire drives him. He kisses Stefan back passionately, reaching up to run his fingers through the back of his hair. The intensity increases as Brian pushes himself against the other man; the closeness of their bodies feeds their fervour.

Behind them the sun hangs low in the sky; soft beams of light shine through breaks in the clouds. Gulls circle above them and below the streets are banked with peak hour traffic. Time stands still for the lovers; they struggle to take enough of each other in. They hold on tight, but draw closer still; their mouths are full yet they yearn to taste more of each other. Somewhere amid the lust that hazes his mind, Stefan recalls the previous afternoon. The tenderness of their shy embrace, how awkward and ashamed he had felt. _That was just a day ago_ , he realises.

Brian slides his hands down to rest on Stefan’s shoulders; his body relaxing as their kiss slows to a calmer pace. He pulls away slightly, only for a moment, before bonding his mouth with the other man’s. He sucks softly on Stefan’s lip; the languid actions are reciprocated. A smile tugs at Stefan’s mouth as he contemplates how much has changed in the last 24 hours. Right here, in his arms is his bandmate, his best friend; the man he loves. He refuses to let the particulars worry him; the what-if’s and why’s, and instead focuses on the gorgeous man within his grasp. His scent, his taste, the way he moves, the contours of his body; Stefan savours it all, basking in the magnificence of each and every detail.

Brian feels his confidence growing; in his lover he finds affection and patience, each offered unconditionally. There is nothing forced about it, and Stefan’s genuine warmth fills him with joy. A fleeting thought that _something_ is missing bothers him briefly, but he tries to ignore it. Celeste’s image floats to the surface of his mind and he cringes, pulling away from Stefan. He sighs then dares to glance up at the taller man. Stefan wears a shy smile and his cheeks are flushed. Brian feels a pang of guilt; Stefan looks blissed, and he is quite content; yet he somehow thinks of _her_. Brian clears his throat and struggles to think of something to say now that he has spoiled the moment.

“Your throat?” Stefan guesses, concerned.

“Yeah,” Brian lies, guilt stricken. Stefan takes his hand and leads him from the balcony. The warm air inside is pleasant; neither man had noticed the temperature cooling outside. Brian flops down onto the sofa and Stefan pours him a glass of water. He sips at it; the cool liquid soothes his raw throat.

“Thanks,” Brian says as Stefan sits down beside him. _It doesn’t mean anything_ , Brian assures himself; _of course Celeste is going to pop into my head from time to time_. He leans against his friend, resting his head on his shoulder. Brian wonders how long he has been overlooking Stefan’s affection, and if he could go without it now. _What happens when he changes his mind too?_ The thought fills him with dread. _But this is different_ , another part of him argues _; Stefan loves me._ He closes his eyes and clings to that hope. Half of him wants to nurture this new feeling; allow himself to trust Stefan and let things progress. His other half craves independence and control; _fucking a bandmate can never end well_ , he reminds himself somewhat sensibly. He sighs and pushes his internal debate to the back of his mind, focusing on the warmth of the body beside him.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright to sing tonight?” Stefan asks, wrapping his arm around him. Brian shrugs.

“Soundcheck went well, I sound better than I did yesterday,” he replies hopefully. He looks up at Stefan, “When my voice gives out, you can take over,” he suggests, grinning cheekily. Stefan scoffs and his throat catches.

“Actually, I think I’ve caught your bug,” he admits, grimacing.

“Well, that’s that; Stevie will have to take the mic,” Brian says, giggling.

“Yeah! And Bill can do backup vocals,” Stefan adds jokingly and Brian snorts. He slides his hand up into Brian’s hair, twirling strands between his fingers. The sensation sends a shiver down Brian’s spine. “And how would you cope losing the attention your adoring fans?” Stefan asks.

 “Y’know… I could lose my voice completely and still leave the crowd in rapture. In fact, the two of us, we could put on quite the show,” Brian says suggestively, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah? I can’t imagine how,” Stefan replies, feigning innocence. Smirking, Brian leans forward and climbs on to his lap.

“Oh, y’know, something like this…”

Brian wraps his arms around his neck and watches as Stefan struggles to keep a straight face. He pushes his lips against the other man’s and kisses him hard; at the same time he grinds his lower half against Stefan’s. Stefan leans back into the sofa, his arms by his sides, hands clawing lightly at the cushion beneath him for support; he can hardly believe that Brian has initiated the contact. He resists the urge to grab onto him and instead attempts to remain relaxed; he wants to see how far Brian will take things if given control. The shorter man continues to kiss him; quick, hard little kisses. The pressure of Brian’s lips lingers each time he pulls away. Stefan kisses him back, but still doesn’t make any other contact. He struggles not to react as he keeps up the calm front. Brian keenly notes the game Stefan is playing and takes up the challenge. He slides a hand down Stefan’s chest, his splayed palm presses against his stomach, and then he drags a finger down to trail the length of his fly. Stefan gasps. Brian plants one more kiss against his mouth then pulls away; his lips trace Stefan’s jaw line, they are soft against his stubble. Stefan tilts his head in sync with Brian’s movements; he can feel his breath against his neck. His fingers continue to toy with Stefan’s fly; Brian notes his growing arousal with delight. He trails small kisses down his neck, his palm pressed hard against Stefan’s crotch. Unable to resist any longer, Stefan finally surrenders and bucks against Brian’s open hand; before he can wrap his arms around him, Brian catches his wrists. He tuts at Stefan, and regards him with a menacing smirk.

“Since you didn’t wanna touch me,” he says, pushing Stefan’s arms back to his sides, “I guess you’re just going to have to watch.” Stefan looks up at him, amused. Brian rubs himself against him, teasing; Stefan inhales sharply. Brian grins and releases his wrists; he rests one hand on Stefan’s thigh and rubs himself with the other. Stefan stares, noting the outline of Brian’s erection straining against his already tight jeans. He glances away and meets Brian’s gaze; his wondrous eyes sparkle, his pupils wide with lust. Brian unzips his fly and pulls his cock out; Stefan gulps. He watches helplessly as Brian works himself with long, drawn out movements. His hand slides slowly up and down his shaft; he whimpers for added effect. Stefan hisses, releasing a pent up breath through clenched teeth. He looks up at Brian’s flushed face; his full lips are parted as he pants and perspiration shines on his forehead. He smiles when he notices Stefan watching him.

“You’re missing the best part,” he says, his voice strained. “Here,” he adds, sliding off Stefan’s lap and taking a few steady steps backwards. He leans himself against the wardrobe door. Stefan shifts to the edge of the sofa, his hands griping the cushion tightly as he struggles against the urge to rush over and join him.

“Is this better?” Brian asks, leaning back against the door as he strokes himself.

“No,” Stefan admits. Brian grins at him, clearly relishing his position of power. He stretches up on tip toes, his free hand grasping the wardrobe door behind him for support.

“Brian,” Stefan says, standing, “This is stupid, we haven’t got time for-”

He pauses, somehow unable to complete his argument. He stands awkwardly before his bandmate, unable to look away as Brian continues to pleasure himself.

“So, Stefan doesn’t like games?” Brian asks, the question is directed more to himself than the other man. “Fine,” he says, meeting Stefan’s gaze.  “I’m not gonna let you fuck me,” he adds bluntly.

Stefan says nothing, he continues gawking as if hypnotised.

“Y’know what I _would_ like?”

He steps forward and pushes his mouth against Stefan’s; his teeth pull at his lip as he breaks away. Stefan considers shoving Brian back against the door behind him and pinning him down; he instead stands still and offers no reply.

“Get on your knees,” Brian instructs. Stefan obliges, sinking to the floor without a word of complaint. He's fascinated by this side of Brian and is willing to obey his each and every whim. Without wasting another moment, Stefan takes his dick in his fist and begins to work him with swift strokes. He wraps his lips around the head of his penis and twirls his tongue around the sensitive tip. Brian gasps and steadies himself by grasping at him; one hand finds the back of his head, his fingers slide through his short hair; the other hand grips his shoulder. Stefan takes him deep into his mouth, sucking hard as he moves back and forth. Brian cries out, his fingers pulling at Stefan’s hair and clawing at his shoulder. Stefan pulls back, his fist working Brian’s slicked shaft while he sucks hard on his head, his tongue tracing circles. Brian moans, the exquisite sensations push him quickly toward climax.

 _Knock, knock, knock_ ; banging sounds out from the bedroom door.

“Room service,” someone says.

“Fuck off!” Brian shouts back, his fingers tugging tufts of Stefan’s hair as his muscles begin to tense.

“Room service!” They call again, louder, perhaps not hearing his reply. Stefan pulls forward, deep-throating Brian; his tongue massages his shaft expertly as he takes all of him inside his mouth. The motion sends Brian over the edge, he moans softly as he releases. Stefan swallows obediently; Brian looks down to see him grinning as he licks his lips. He pats Stefan on the head affectionately, currently unable to voice his appreciation in a coherent manner.  **_Knock, knock, knock!_** Brian jumps, startled by the sound.

“Coming!” He calls, and Stefan chuckles softly. Brian releases his hold on him and takes an unsteady step backwards, tucking himself back in and zipping his fly.

He swings the door open and glares at the woman waiting outside. She motions to a cart meekly, “Your order, Mr. Olsdal. Will I bring them inside?”

“I’m not-” Brian stops himself and sighs; there’s no point explaining. “Yeah, bring them in,” he says, holding the door open. The attendant scurries in, her eyes lowered. Brian feels a little guilty,

“Thanks,” he offers as an afterthought. She nods wearily as she places dishes on the small table.

“Please call if there is anything else you need,” she says as she turns to leave. Brian notes with relief that Stefan is now sitting calmly on the sofa and isn’t still kneeling on the floor. The attendant lingers in the doorway, Brian wonders if she is waiting for a tip. 

“That’s all,” he says, dismissing her with a flick of his wrist. She nods again and leaves, shutting the door behind her. Brian turns back to face Stefan, sighing melodramatically. The Swede watches him with a slight smile; saying nothing he pats his lap, inviting Brian to join him. Brian grins, sauntering toward him. He straddles him and cups Stefan’s ignored erection; having zipped his jeans up upon the arrival of the attendant, his excitement is now left straining against denim. Stefan inhales sharply, tilting his hips up to meet Brian’s open hand.  He leans forward to kiss him; the heat of the other man’s mouth against his own fuels his arousal. Brian strokes him through the denim, savouring the reactions the motion causes. Stefan wraps his arms around his neck; he pulls away from the kiss and leans his head against Brian’s shoulder. He moans as Brian works faster, the friction leaves him breathless.

“Come for me,” Brian orders, his mouth against Stefan’s ear. The words propel him towards orgasm; he shudders against his friend, gasping for air. Brian kisses his cheek softly and then slides off him, standing up.

“I’ll go get Steve,” he says, and Stefan looks up at him curiously, an eyebrow raised.

“Three’s a crowd,” he jokes, unsure of Brian’s intentions. The smaller man laughs and points to the table behind him.

“ _For dinner_ ,” Brian explains, “I’ll give you a minute to, uh, clean up.” He makes for the door, but turns back to Stefan before leaving.

“We’ll save the _ménage à trios_ for dessert,” he adds, smirking.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I kind of went with actual dates the band were in the country for this story and as it turns out there is actually a bootleg of the show. Obviously I wasn't there and I've improvised the dialogue that's garbled or cut off but it was fun to imagine! (If anyone can actually understand what Stefan says at the end, I will change it to suit, hahaha) Download here; http://www.placeborussia.ru/audio/concerts/16081999sydney

“Ten minutes!” Someone shouts, their footsteps pounding down the passage way. The tour manager sticks his head into the room, “Ten minutes,” he repeats, scoping the room to make deliberate eye contact with Steve, then Brian, Stefan and Bill, and then back to Brian. Steve offers him a ‘thumbs up’ gesture and he rolls his eyes in response. “I’ll be back in 5, you lot had better be side of stage by then,” he instructs, before rushing back through the door. The band laughs, and Steve raises his beer can.

“Let’s knock ‘em dead, hey lads!”

The others cheer, raising their drinks in unison before tipping them back. Bill glances toward the door then stands up. Steve does the same, and then begins stretching; reaching up and bending from side to side. Brian watches him with a look of amusement.

“Need any help limbering up?” he offers playfully. Steve scoffs, but wiggles his behind in Brian’s direction.

“You couldn’t keep up,” he teases and Brian giggles.

“I could help you bend, one way, or another,” Brian suggests with a wink. Bill watches on with raised eyebrows; Stefan meets his eye and they both chuckle.

“Dream on!” Steve says, shaking his head. “Let’s get going?” He asks the group. Stefan stands and walks toward the door to join the others but Brian hesitates.

“Give me a minute,” he says, taking up a small plastic bag from the counter. He shakes a little powder from it onto the table top and grabs an empty glass, crushing the coke with the base. He taps his sides meaning to take out his wallet but his skirt has no pockets. Stefan appears beside him, credit card in hand. He beams up at the bassist, taking the card from him.

“Bill, Steve?” Brian asks; Bill declines, holding up his beer can to indicate his preference. Steve joins the other two at the counter.

“Just one line,” he says. Brian uses the plastic card to form five lines of powder; before he can ask, Stefan holds up a pink five dollar bill. Steve takes it from him and rolls it tightly before leaning down to snort his line. He sniffs a few times before handing the bank note back to Stefan, who takes his turn, inhaling two of the remaining four lines. Brian hoovers the remaining powder, clearing his throat once finished.

“Shit,” he mutters, rubbing his nostril with a knuckle. Brian leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling; _they’re all waiting for you,_ he tells himself, _don’t fuck it up_. A moment later a wave of energy crashes over him; he feels keenly aware and self assured. He looks up at his bandmates and smiles widely.

Stefan throws his arms around his shoulders, and in a sing-song voice cries, “Let’s go!” They all cheer, and Bill leads the way down the passage toward the stage.

They meet the rest of the crew side of stage; roadies run past with rolls of duct tape and tangled leads. Brian lights a cigarette and peeps out at the audience from behind equipment cases. It’s too dark to see the crowd clearly but the room seems packed with people. He returns to the group and they share in the anticipation as _Ion_ is played. Stefan feels that the intro matches his heartbeat; that repeated keystroke controlling the pulse and flow of blood through his body. The crowd cheers as the intro starts, knowing the band isn’t far way. Steve calls the others to come over; an assortment of the crew joins them for a group huddle. They look at one and other; the band members each pull a serious face, glaring across the circle at those opposite. Stefan holds Brian’s gaze, determined to out-stare him. Steve starts yelling loudly and the rest of the group join the roar. Brian finally steps back, smiling widely.  Someone hands him his guitar, he holds it tightly and pulls the strap on with the diligence of a solider arming himself in preparation for battle. He watches as Bill takes to the stage, positioning himself behind the amps to the left of the drums. Steve follows, taking his spot behind his kit. Stefan lingers, waiting for Brian at the edge of the stage. The singer approaches him with a swagger and a smirk; he blows a stream of smoke toward the bassist and motions for him to join the others on stage. Stefan hesitates; he wants to tell Brian to stop smoking, or that he looks stunning, or that his voice will be perfect, but he can’t decide on a comment. As he opens his mouth, Brian stretches up and plants a quick kiss on his lips. Stefan’s heart races; he struts onto the stage with his usual cool air, but inside he is brimming with joy. His stomach feels light and heavy all at once and he forces himself to take a few deep breaths. Brian watches him take to the stage with a sense of pride. He has one last drag on his cigarette and then throws it to the ground, crushing it with a stomp. He steps onto the stage with arms raises; the crowds’ heightened response fuels his grandiosity. Dressed entirely in black, Brian makes quite the statement; he wears a shirt and tie teamed with a pleather skirt and Doc Martens. It is an outfit he has favoured on the tour, ticking both the business attire and fetish wear categories of his current fashion taste. Stefan is no more subdued in a dark mesh singlet and trouser combo. As he slipped on his own glittery black t-shirt that evening, Steve had joked that they looked like Marilyn Manson’s entourage.

Without taking the time for pleasantries, Steve counts them in; they launch into _Scared of Girls_ before the crowd has a chance to defend themselves. Brian takes a quick glance towards Stefan as he strums the opening bars. Before them, the throng of bodies bounces along to the song; Brian notes a few in the front rows head-banging. Between vocals, he pulls back from the microphone to rock himself back and forward; the feed of the guitars and the roar of the crowd colliding as he throws himself into the music.

The band barely pauses before beginning _Brick Shithouse_. The intro is met with the audience’s approval; the group moshes from side to side; a few bodies surf across on raised arms. Stefan leans back, his eyes closed; his fingers walk across the fret board of their own accord, powered by something instinctive. He sways his hips to the beat, absorbed in the music.

“When you **_fuck_** , you never make a single sound,” Brian sings and Stefan smiles softly. He’s always amused by the way the singer dirties up the lyrics when performing live.  “Don’t you wish you’d never met her!” Brian spits, staring down someone in the front row; the image of his ex-girlfriend comes to mind and he scowls as they finish the song.

Brian strangles the neck of his beloved Bitch, drawing out pained noises as Bill begin the familiar intro to _Allergic_. As Brian sings he tilts his head from side to side, feeling slightly frustrated with the song. The mood soon passes and he starts to bob along in a less facetious manner. During the interlude he takes a few steps toward Stefan, watching him intensely. He returns to the microphone, still staring in Stefan’s direction.

“Don’t let me down,” he sings, his eyes widened with exaggerated innocence as he pleads. Stefan finally cracks, turning away laughing and Brian looks out over the crowd as if he has just remembered they are there.

“Thank you very much! We’re Placebo,” he says as the audience applauds, drawing more cheers. “This is the last gig of our Australian tour,” he prompts and the crowd reacts with the expected nationalism. “We’ve been here twice this year, you probably won’t be seeing us again,” Brian banters; receiving a few boos. “It’s no reason not to teeny-bop,” Brian turns around to Steve and they each pull a face before starting _You Don’t Care About Us_.  

Brian sings the chorus with a sneer, looking out across the crowd. He lightens up as the song continues, providing pantomime actions to match the lyrics; he wanks his guitar gratuitously with the line “mental masturbation,” drawing whistles and cheers from the audience both times. The musicians each pause to take a drink once the song finishes; Brian’s throat feels raw as he swallows a swig of beer. He believes he sounds fine though, and reminds himself that after they finish tonight it’s a while before the next gig. He looks over to Stefan and they begin playing the intro to _Bionic_ as feedback still rings; a few faces in the crowd look up in disbelief. The crowd sings along, some pumping their fists to the call of “Harder, faster _”_.

“None of you can make the grade,” Brian sings to them, grinning. He takes a step back from the microphone to molest his guitar, then returns, singing the refrain while watching Stefan. A few people shout from the audience, he turns back toward them; “None of you can make the grade,” he repeats, and then adds, “None of you can get me laid!” Brian grins down at them, nodding along as the bodies sway back and forth and bounce around.

Steve counts them in to _36 Degrees_ , holding his sticks high above his head. The band launch into the song and some audience members scream upon recognising the track.

“Allocate your sentiment and shove it up your ass!” Brian ad-libs, drawing cheers from the crowd.

Stefan joins him on the bridge, counting off numbers. They make eye contact and Stefan watches Brian giddily as they duet. During the instrumental outro, Brian walks over to him, beaming. He leans his head against Stefan’s chest as they play. Their actions are aggressive; sexual energy charges through them as they tease and caress their guitars. They finish with a flourish and Brian moves slowly back to his microphone stand, reluctant to look away from Stefan. The crowd claps and shouts their appreciation; Brian finally turns to bask in their admiration.

“Today we released a new single, apparently, on which we had the great honour of working with this certain, young,” he pauses, trying to keep his composure, “Young artist by the name of _David Bowie._ ” The audience applauds wildly. “Unfortunately David can’t be here tonight,” Brian says and the crowd shouts back unintelligible responses, “But he sends his regards,” he adds with a cheeky grin.

“And for your listening pleasure, tonight Stefan will be Mr David Bowie.”

Brian glances over at the bassist, expecting him to be cringing with embarrassment. Stefan appears more smug than shy; he smiles back at Brian, waiting for his lead in. The pair’s duet is not quite as remarkable as the version with Bowie, but their chemistry bewitches the audience. The crowd sways, some fans hold up lighters. Their voices blend harmoniously; the lovers watch each other meaningfully as they sing.

“Without you, I’m nothing, at all;” as the words leave Stefan’s lips he feels overcome with emotion. He turns away from Brian as the song ends, worried he will do something regrettable if he continues starring at the singer.

Following the slower song, the pace of _Every You, Every Me_ has the audience moving again. They go wild, leaping and singing along to the radio hit. The popularity of the song has been a mixed blessing for the band, but they all enjoy seeing the crowd’s reaction. Just as the song comes in to the close, a bottle flies up from the pit, narrowly missing Brian’s face and smashing against Steve’s snare drum. Brian lets his guitar fall, his line of sight following the bottle; Steve leaps up to glare out over the audience.

“What the fuck!?” The drummer shouts, standing behind his kit; Bill and Stefan watch on, helpless. Brian storms toward the microphone, boiling with rage. He stares into the crowd, searching the direction the missile was sent from.

“You are an ignorant cunt, who thinks he’s clever, and likes to fuck it up for others,” he starts, though his fury is dampened by feelings of relief. “Now unfortunately, _cunty_ , you’ve caught me on a bad day, and I’m in a very bad mood,” Brian notices the terrified expressions of a few onlookers despite the sardonic edge to his threat. “So if you’d like to make yourself known, I will personally take great pleasure in tearing you a new fucking asshole!”

Over the audience cheers and applause, someone calls, “Faggot!” Brian leans forward and points a finger in the hecklers direction.

“And you!” He adds, stabbing his finger through the air, “I was exactly like you when I started drinking. Fuck you!” The crowd laughs and the heckler shrinks down. Brian takes a step back, his chest filing as his ego rises. Watching him, Stefan is reminded of a circus ringmaster; his sharp words and aggressive actions keep the crowd under control, just as a whip would tame wild animals. 

Brian holds out his arms, “Anybody else wanna have a go?” Someone takes him up on his offer, calling out garbled insults that he can’t comprehend. He stares down at the guy and tells him, “I don’t speak stupid so you’re going to have to speak English.” He smiles condescendingly before turning around and sauntering over to Steve’s kit. Bill has come forward a little to inspect the damage and Steve seems satisfied with the state of his snare. Brian kicks at some of the glass shards and leans over, asking Steve for a cigarette. The drummer obliges, pulling out his pack and lighting one for him. Brian thanks him and takes a deep drag before turning back to face the restless crowd.  Stefan watches on, chewing his lip anxiously. Brian grins in his direction, reassuring him. Given his temperament and drug of choice that evening, Brian himself is surprised that his reaction was so mild. Stefan’s presence has a mellowing effect on him, he realises, smiling to himself.  He takes his place behind the microphone and glances down to his setlist. _Teenage Angst,_ he reads with amusement.

“So, I didn’t think they were letting anybody under 18 in this gig tonight, but if you got in, well this one’s for you,” Brian introduces the song, tucking his cigarette into the headstock of his guitar. Although his aggression has calmed following the confrontation, Brian launches into the song with newfound energy, staring down at the audience with a somewhat mocking expression. They react to the song positively, forgetting the incident almost immediately. Brian bobs along as he plays, happy to have the crowd once again eating from his hand. Stefan struggles to shake his apprehension and watches out over the audience in case the attacker returns.

The next track rolls into the previous; _Bruise Pristine_ keeps the audiences’ favour. People have started crowd-surfing again; others leap up with arms outstretched. Brian’s performance borders on erotic; Stefan watches intently as he fondles his guitar and moans lyrics into the microphone. The singer notices him staring and pushes it even further; Brian throws his head back as he slides his hand up and down his guitar neck, evoking images in Stefan’s mind of his own private performance that afternoon. As Brian returns to the microphone, he looks knowingly at Stefan, smirking. 

To the audience’s delight, they launch into _Nancy Boy_ before the feedback can die down. With his groove back, Stefan rocks his hips rhythmically to the beat of the track. Brian watches him, waiting to catch his eye.

“Greatest _fuck_ I ever had,” he sings as Stefan turns to him. The bassist laughs, and begins to move toward him, miming along as Brian sings, “We’re a couple, when our bodies double.” He saunters up to Brian as the song reaches its crescendo; Stefan stands behind him, leaning his head against the shorter man’s as they both strum desperately. Brian moans into the microphone, mimicking orgasm. As they finish, Brian turns to face Stefan, looking up at him lustfully. Stefan takes the sight in; if he didn’t know better, he would have sworn Brian _had_ just been fucked. His cropped hair hangs in damp curls and sweat has smudged his makeup. With his full lips parted and chest heaving, Brian looks the picture of post-coital bliss. Steve slams down his sticks one last time and the pair stop strumming.

Offstage, Brian leads the way to their dressing room; applause and screams from the audience follow them down the passageway. They rub themselves down with towels waiting in the room; Steve wraps his towel around his neck and sits down at the table. He takes up the plastic bag left there and tips out a generous amount of cocaine. He crushes it with the glass Brian had used earlier and pulls out a plastic card to cut it. He looks up to ask how many lines the others want; he can’t see Bill and the other two seem deep in conversation. Stefan has Brian backed against the wall, his arms pressed either side of the small singer.

“Oi!” Steve calls, and Stefan spins around, looking slightly embarrassed. Brian regards Steve smugly, holding up three fingers. “Stef?” The drummer asks, as he begins dividing the powder into equal portions.

“Uhm, just two, thanks,” he replies, sitting down opposite him at the small table. Brian attempts to dry his hair then tosses the towel aside, wandering over to the table and plopping himself down in Stefan’s lap. Steve glances up and rolls his eyes; _ignorance is bliss_ , he tells himself. He finishes cutting the lines and takes the first two for himself, using the same five dollar bill to vacuum up the powder. He hands the bank note to Brian as he stands, then heads for the door, impatient to get back on stage. Rather than move around to the empty seat, Brian leans across and reaches over the table, forcing Stefan to grab him by the waist to hold him up. He performs the task with his own brand of refinement; his back arches as he leans across the table in a cat-like manner. He inhales the coke in a few simple movements, switching nostrils between lines. He crawls back onto Stefan’s lap without upsetting anything on the table, and then jumps up, pulling Stefan from his seat.

“Quick,” Brian demands, and Stefan regards him with a cynical expression before leaning down and snorting the remaining two lines of powder. Brian bobs up and down beside him while he waits; he snatches Stefan’s hand the second he finishes and squeezes it. Looking down into his cartoonishly large eyes, Stefan brims with happiness. He swoops in for a quick kiss, catching Brian by surprise.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he admits.

“Why didn’t you?” Brian asks, moving toward the door.

“One bottle thrown at your head not enough for you?” Stefan replies, slightly concerned. Brian scoffs as he leads Stefan back out into the passageway.

“It’d do these repressed homophobes some good to face their fears,” he offers, “Who knows, they might like it.” Stefan laughs; the effects of the drug hit him, blowing away his concerns and instilling in him a renewed confidence.

“Get out there and say something,” Brian prompts, pushing him from the side of the stage. Stefan isn’t entirely sure _what_ he should say, but he takes his bass from a crew member and strolls onto the stage like he owns it.

“Did you miss us?” He asks, drawing cheers from the crowd and a chuckle from Steve. “Although we love it here, tonight is our last show in Australia,” the audience roars with gratitude. “So, to all our crew, including our tour manager,” he looks to the side of the stage, hoping to see him, maybe even bring him out, but instead Stefan spots Brian. The singer slides his hand across his crotch teasingly, tilting his head back. Stefan mumbles the names of various crew members as he watches the gratuitous display distractedly. He forces himself to look away, “They were fucking wicked,” he glances back over to Brian, who continues touch himself, “So, take,” Brian laughs as Stefan jumbles his words, “Big love, guys,” Stefan offers to the crew, earning some cheers from the audience. He looks out across the room, “And you have been fucking awesome!” The comment receives a louder response, possibly due to Brian sauntering onstage at that moment. He watches Stefan as he slides on his guitar. “We’ve got one more for you guys, just the one, so I wanna hear you before we start it!” The audience screams and applauds; “I can’t hear you!” Stefan prompts, and they raise their voices. Bill starts playing the iconic intro and Stefan shakes his head at Brian; he laughs in response. A few moments later, the rest of the band come in and kick off _Pure Morning_. The three of them ride an immense wave of euphoria, bought on by the cocaine and amplified by the horde of screaming fans.

Eyes closed, Steve smashes out the steady beat, immersing himself back into the music. He feels electrified with energy; each time his sticks hit the skins the powerful charge grows stronger.  As Brian sings he studies the fans in the front row; a young lady with ample cleavage catches his eye and he offers her a wink with the line, “A friend with breasts and all the rest.” He soon tires of the crowd, slightly put off by the number of black bobs and kohl-laden lids staring back at him. He glances over at Stefan; he throws his head back as he gyrates back and forth to the bass line. The bassist oozes sex appeal and Brian can’t wait to have him all to himself. He distractedly steps back up to the microphone, holding his hands to his mouth like a funnel to provide vocal distortion as he sings, “Dawning, crawling.”

Further into the song, Brian prompts the crowd, clapping his hands above his head. The audience follows his suggestion; the room fills with raised arms and a strong beat. Stefan sings with him on the outro; he watches Brian with an intense expression, struggling against the urge to cross the stage and join the singer. They finish with a flourish; Steve ignores the ache in his arms as he hammers out a heavy beat and bashes at his cymbals; Bill and Stefan thrash their guitars, drawing strained melodies and heavy feedback. Brian lets his guitar fall, raising his arms to the thunderous sound of screams and applause. He doesn’t bother to thank the audience, striding offstage triumphantly to be met with backslaps and cheers from crew members. He notices a cigarette being offered in his direction and snatches it without a moment’s hesitation. He thanks someone as they light it for him, and heads for the dressing room.

Drawing deeply on the cigarette, Brian feels his throat burn, the smoke further irritating his inflamed tonsils. People push past him in the narrow passageway, rushing with crates and trolleys. He enters the small dressing room and flops into a chair, sighing as he exhales a thick stream of smoke. Brian twists in his chair, stretching his arms and shoulders first and then his neck. He can hear the audience chanting, still hopeful that the band will return for another encore. He feels smug; knowing that the crowd are calling for him does wonders for his already bloated ego. He pictures Stefan as he was a moment ago, hips grinding his guitar, his face a picture of pleasure. Brian wonders if there is a shower in another dressing room; he imagines himself pinned beneath the bassist, the friction between them, his nails digging into Stefan’s bare chest.  Steve wanders into the room, towelling his hair.

“You alright?” Steve looks concerned. Brian is caught off guard; he tilts his head, unsure of what he’s referring to.

“Uh, fine and dandy,” he finally replies.

“You nicked off before we could have a cuddle,” Steve says, sitting down opposite him, “At least Stef still loves me,” he adds, pulling a forlorn face.

“I _what_?” The bassist asks, entering with a goofy grin. Brian can’t help but stare as he walks into the room; the sight of his friend flushed and dripping with sweat sends his imagination into overdrive. Stefan stands behind Steve, resting his hands on his shoulders as he waits for his answer.

“You still love me,” Steve repeats, reaching around to stroke Stefan’s arm with exaggerated affection.

“Of course!” Stefan agrees, leaning down to plant a kiss on his head. Forced to abandon his fantasies, Brian splutters with laughter as the two of them watch him with serious expressions. Bill appears in the doorway with a beer in hand.

“What’s all this?” He asks, eyeing the odd couple. Stefan turns to face him.

“Just a little post-gig affection, come on in,” he offers with a wave of his hand. Bill shakes his head.

“There’s a cab waiting, are we going back to the hotel or straight out?” Stefan and Steve look over to Brian.

“Well, I’ve gotta shower,” he says, shrugging. Steve moans.

“C’mon Molks, we haven’t got time for that,” he says, eager to hit the town.

“Well go without me then!” Brian snaps. Steve rolls his eyes, but before he can respond Stefan takes up his usual role as mediator.

“Steve, you want to head back to that English style pub, yeah?” He nods. “You too?” Stefan asks Bill.

“That place with the stags and boars heads mounted on the wall?” He asks, thinking back a night to when they last partied in Sydney.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms excitedly, “And there was that barmaid who did that trick with her-”

“ _So_ ,” Stefan interrupts, “Why don’t you two go ahead and we’ll meet you there later?”

The solution seems obvious now and both Steve and Brian look a little sheepish.

“Fine,” Brian agrees, standing. “We’ll take this cab and you two can organise another!” He sticks his tongue out at Steve as he passes him; the drummer sneers and offers him a one fingered response. Brian laughs and grabs his make-up bag from the table, stuffing a few items into it. Stefan passes him the remainder of the coke and he adds it to his collection.

“What was it called again?” Stefan asks as they go leave the room.

“The Turtle and Hare?” Steve says uncertainly.

“Nah, The Hare and Wheelbarrow, wasn’t it?” Bill adds, scratching his chin.

“I thought it was The Lion and Wheelbarrow?” Brian says, confused. “Or was it… Elephant?” 

“The Elephant and Wheelbarrow’s the one back home, isn’t it?” Steve says.

“That’s the Elephant and Castle,” Bill corrects him, although he does not look certain.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Stefan says impatiently, “We’ll meet you there soon, whatever it’s called.”  

They leave the dressing room and rush down a hallway; roadies race in the opposite direction, lugging along equipment. Brian takes Stefan's hand; his heart pumping rapidly and mind buzzing with anticipation. A green ‘exit’ sign glows in the darkness at the end of the hallway but before they reach it,he veers into a store room, dragging Stefan inside. He throws himself against the bassist and presses his mouth hard against his. Brian's kisses are returned with fervour. Stefan runs his hands over his body, sliding them beneath his shirt; his skin is hot and wet to touch. Brian pulls away, panting; Stefan’s arms linger around his waist.

“We’re not staying?” He asks, disappointed.

 “Sorry, no,” Brian says, not looking the least bit apologetic. “I’m not adding ‘broom closet’ to the list of strange places we’ve fucked.”

“Have it your way,” Stefan says with a shrug.

“I always do,” Brian quips, leading them toward the exit.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for... um... rough play? Nothing non-con, but potentially triggering.

Stefan climbs carefully into the backseat of the taxi; his legs are cramped against the seat in front of him but given the company, he’s willing to ignore the discomfort. He confirms the address with the driver then leans back, grinning coyly at Brian. Even now the singer looks stunning, he thinks giddily. Strands of dark hair cling to his forehead; other damp clumps form rebellious ringlets. His mascara is smudged prettily, emphasising his bright blue-green eyes. Stefan considers pulling the smaller man onto his lap, or laying him down and straddling him; he swallows hard, longing to close the space between their bodies. The Swede resists, and instead slides his hand across the seat, his fingertips stroking Brian’s thigh lightly in the darkness. Stefan thinks he catches the driver watching him in the rear view mirror but he ignores him. Brian shifts over in his seat, moving across to be closer to the other man. Stefan’s hand slides beneath his skirt, his fingertips skimming up his inner thigh. Brian shivers at the contact; he places his hand over Stefan’s and slides it upward. His skirt hitches, the pleather fabric squeaking softly against his sweaty thighs. Brian wriggles over, moving closer still to the other man and exposing his pale thighs. Stefan’s hand finally meets his hardening dick; Brian watches with hungry eyes as Stefan strokes him.

The pair are thrown forward as the car turns sharply. The driver then slams on the brakes, jerking them again.

“Ten fifty,” the driver grunts, leering at Brian in the rear view mirror. Stefan quickly pulls away from Brian and busies himself by searching his wallet for the correct change. Brian yanks down his skirt and glares back at the eyes watching him in the mirror. Stefan tosses a handful of coins toward the driver and jumps out of the car.

“Fucking fags,” they hear him mutter.

“Fucking asshole,” Brian spits back, lingering in the backseat.

“Get out before I throw you out!” The driver warns. Stefan appears at Brian’s door and swings it open. He leans down and Brian takes his hand.

“Scared you might like it?” He asks the cabbie as he exits. The driver reverses out of the park quickly, forcing the pair to jump back out of his way. “Fucking prick!” Brian shouts, lurching forward as if intending to take pursuit. Stefan grips his hand tight and pulls him backward. Brian leans into him, sighing.

“C’mon,” Stefan says, leading him toward the hotel entrance. “Are you alright?” He asks as they walk through the lobby. The receptionist barely notices them as they rush past.

“I will be,” Brian says, his tone rich with suggestion. They step inside the elevator and Brian barely waits for the door to shut before pouncing on his partner. He wraps his arms around Stefan’s neck and drags him down into a rough kiss. Stefan grabs him by the waist and pulls him in close; Brian rubs himself desperately against the taller man, his erection digging into his thigh. The elevator doors slide open and Stefan steps out backward with Brian’s arms still around his neck.

“Your room or mine?” He asks, spinning around and pushing Brian against the wall.

“Yours,” Brian says, inhaling sharply as Stefan sucks and kisses at his neck. “Mine has this mirror above the bed, and I feel it’s a little too narcissistic, even for _me_ , to watch myself fucking someone.” Stefan pulls back and stares at Brian, looking both surprised and curious.

“ _You’re_ gonna be fucking someone?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Brian says, beaming up at him. “I _am_ gonna be fucking someone,” he holds his hand against Stefan’s crotch and massages with his open palm, “Specifically, someone tall, blonde, Swedish and _hung like a horse_.” Brian traces the outline of his hardening dick through his trousers.

 “Well, I can’t argue with that,” Stefan says, smirking. He kisses Brian once more before taking a step back. They move quickly down the hallway to his room; Brian leans back against the door, his fingers tracing Stefan’s fly. The bassist fumbles with his keycard, distracted by Brian’s touch. He finally inserts the card the right way and pushes down on the handle. Brian almost falls back as the door swings open; he giggles as Stefan grasps his arm. He leads the bassist inside; Stefan lets the door slam behind him as he follows. Brian reaches up to wrap his arms back around Stefan’s neck, pulling him down into a passionate kiss as they move clumsily toward the bed. Stefan backs him up against the mattress, his hands move quickly against Brian’s thighs as he pulls his skirt up roughly. Brian falls back against the bed, bringing Stefan down with him. He drops his make-up bag and its contents spill across the bedspread. The couple climb over the mess and move into the centre of the mattress; Brian wriggles backwards as Stefan follows on all fours, his body still pressed against the other man’s. Once comfortable on the bed, Brian reaches up and wraps his arms back around Stefan’s neck. He pulls him down into a desperate kiss, sucking and biting at Stefan’s lower lip. Stefan returns the kiss with the same violent enthusiasm; his teeth nipping at Brian’s soft lips. He trails one hand down Brian’s chest, tugging and twisting the buttons on his shirt. Frustrated, Stefan breaks away from the kiss; he sits up and begins to unbutton Brian’s shirt. The shorter man takes a moment to catch his breath, propping himself up on his elbows to watch.

“Fuck,” Stefan mutters, fumbling with the second button. Brian watches him struggle.

“Hey, careful, this is-”

“ _Armani_ ,” Stefan says, unimpressed. Brian laughs softly.

“Here,” he offers, sitting up on his knees as he begins to unbutton the shirt with ease.

“Show off,” Stefan huffs, sliding his hands down Brian’s bare chest. He pushes the shirt over his shoulders and down his arms. A tie still hangs loosely around Brian’s neck; Stefan giggles at how comically large it looks.

“What?” Brian asks, offended.

“You look like… some kind of kinky cartoon character!” Stefan says, stifling his laughter. Brian frowns, pausing as he wriggles out of his skirt.

“Well, what does that say about your tastes then?” He retorts, kicking the garment off, then unlacing his boots. Stefan snorts as he pulls his singlet over his head. He moves to push Brian back down against the bed but the singer shakes his head. Stefan takes in his exaggerated pout and aims to stop his sulking.

“Fine,” Stefan says simply, grabbing the tie and pulling the shorter man toward him as he leans back. Flat on his back, Stefan is pleased to see Brian grinning as he leans over him. He pulls harder on the tie, dragging him closer. Brian leans down and as he pulls him into a kiss Stefan keeps a firm grip on the fabric. The tightness around his throat heightens his excitement.

Stefan unzips his fly with his free hand; the sensation of Brian’s naked body against his own is too much to resist. He wriggles as he yanks his trousers down; Brian’s hips meet his, he arches to rub his arousal against his lover’s.  Brian moans into the kiss and grinds himself downward to match Stefan’s motion. His hand still wrapped tight around his tie, Stefan pulls Brian away roughly and steers him backwards; he then sits up and places a hand on Brian’s cheek, stroking softly. Brian eyes his cock greedily as Stefan directs him down toward it. He wraps his full lips around the head, teasing the tip with his tongue. Impatient, Stefan slides his hand around the back of his head, taking a fistful of his hair and pushing his head downwards. Brian chokes as his girth is forced down his throat, but fights his gag reflex. Eager to please, Brian sucks hard; his tongue massaging his shaft as he pulls back and forth. Stefan moans, bucking into the warm wetness of his mouth. He can feel himself hitting the back of Brian’s throat with each forceful thrust; the thought of himself filling his friend so only encourages his eagerness. Brian appears to be enjoying it just as much; his lips curve into an evil grin around his dick; the knowledge that he can provide such blissful torture arouses him greatly.

Stefan feels himself nearing climax; he fights against the urge to sate himself in that sweet mouth and instead grabs a clump of Brian’s hair and pulls him back. Brian admires his saliva slicked dick then sits up, watching Stefan with burning eyes as he wipes spit from his mouth with the back of his hand. Stefan slides his trousers all the way down and tosses them aside; his eyes fixed on his bandmate. He takes in the sight before him; Brian, naked and glistening with sweat, his hair swept back into damp waves and his full lips flushed with colour. The large black tie hands limply around his neck. Stefan laughs softly and leans forward to slide it off. Beneath it the dainty silver chain still hangs around Brian’s neck; Stefan watches it shine against his pale skin. He thinks back to the warm beach in Brisbane; the setting sun hanging huge and heavy in the sky, it’s glow sparking in ripples across the ocean. He pulls the tie off and tosses it aside.

“Yogi Bear,” he mutters and Brian snorts.

“I am smarter than the average bear,” he says, giggling.

“You’re a better fuck than the average bear,” Stefan retorts, his fingers tracing the contours of Brian’s chest. Brian chuckles, leaning over Stefan to sort through the spilled contents of his make-up bag. Brian snatches up a condom and a sachet of lubricant; he tears the foil with his teeth.

“That’s a little presumptuous,” he says slicking his fingers with the cool liquid, “But correct,” he adds, looking smug. He teases Stefan’s hole with his index finger, and then pushes it deep inside, evoking a gasp. Brian works him roughly, shoving another finger in and angling them upwards with quick, forceful movements. Stefan looks slightly pained but if he wants it rough, Brian is more than willing to play along.    

“Does that hurt, baby?” He asks, pouting down at his lover. Stefan raises an eyebrow.

“A little,” he admits.

“Good.”

Brian smirks and forces in a third finger; Stefan writhes, biting his lip hard. He clamps his eyes shut and tires to relax; he can’t remember the last time he bottomed. Brian gazes down at him, finding sadistic gratification in the way Stefan reacts. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he takes shallow breaths, his mouth curved into a pained snarl as he grits his teeth. Finally, Brian finds his sweet spot; he pushes in and curls his fingers up to meet his prostate. Stefan cries out and Brian pauses, unsure if he is in pleasure of or pain.

“Please,” Stefan pants, and Brian repeats the motion, drawing deep moans from his lover. Stefan lies with his arms outstretched, grasping desperately at the sheets as he twists and turns, overwhelmed by Brian’s touch. He looks up at Brian from beneath a furrowed brow, desperation written across his face. Brian’s arm aches but he works faster, determined to push Stefan to the very edge of orgasm. Stefan’s skin glistens with sweat; as he stretches his torso ripples with lean muscle. Brian watches how his bones protrude as he writhes; sharp collarbones cut from pointed shoulders. Brian reaches over with his free hand to trace his ribcage; then down, down to graze his jutting hipbone. Stefan’s skin is flushed, moist and hot to touch. Brian’s gaze sweeps his long limbs, his fingers knotted around bunches of bed sheets. He can’t stand to wait any longer, and he’s sure Stefan feels the same way.

Brian pulls his fingers out; he slides the condom on and strokes himself with more lubricant, then moves forward, lining himself up with Stefan’s hole. Stefan swallows and licks his dry lips, impatient as Brian places a hand on either side of his waist. Brian thrusts deep inside him and both men moan loudly. He waits for Stefan to meet his gaze before he continues; his eyes burn with desire, pleading with Brian to fuck him. Brian obliges enthusiastically, holding Stefan’s sides tightly as he pushes in and out of him with slow, powerful movements. The bassist bucks against the smaller man, his body falling and rising to the rhythm of his movements. He looks up at Brian, holding his eye contact. Beads of perspiration form on Brian’s upper lip and he blinks as running mascara stings his eyes. Stefan propels himself upward on one hand, his lips catching Brian’s in a rough kiss. They break apart briefly to suck in ragged breaths before kissing again; their mouths melting into the other. Stefan tastes sweat, cigarettes and himself on Brian’s tongue. He pulls away, panting hard as he nears orgasm. Brian leans over him, desperate to close the space between them; if not his mouth, he wants to feel Stefan’s skin against his own. Instinctively, Stefan’s arms wrap around him, his hands slide down his back, pulling him closer still as they fall backwards. Brian teeters on the edge of climax; he feels Stefan’s nails sink into his back and his insides tense, tightening around his penis. Finally, Stefan comes and Brian allows himself to follow, moaning sweetly as he does.

Brian pulls himself out slowly, and then slumps down on top of Stefan; both are unfazed by the semen slicking their bellies. Brian nuzzles in against him and Stefan slides his fingers though his lover’s damp hair, twirling strands between his fingers. Heat radiates through their bodies and the sound of hearts beating and heavy breathing fills the room. Stefan begins to relax; his aching muscles loosen as he feels himself sinking into the soft mattress beneath him. Endorphins fill his mind with feelings of deep affection; his drained body submits to drowsiness and he slowly looses consciousness. Brian’s brain cries out for a cigarette; his body buzzes restlessly and his mind flickers with persistent thoughts. He sighs and sits up. Stefan frowns as he is jolted from the lull of sleep.

Brian grabs his lighter and a crumpled pack of Marlboros and wanders toward the window. Stefan rolls over and watches as he walks away; his pallid complexion is littered with small bruises and scrapes, most of which he received during the previous night’s adventure. To Stefan’s surprise, Brian slides open the glass door and steps out onto the balcony. He watches with disbelief as Brian turns back to face him. Brazenly leaning against the railings, he lights a cigarette, baring his arse to all of Sydney. Without taking his eyes off him, Stefan stands and pulls the top sheet from the bed. Feeling self-conscious, he wraps one half around himself before going to join Brian on the balcony.

“Here,” he says, draping the thin fabric over the smaller man’s shoulder. Brian shivers and sidles in closer to him. The night air is sharp and cool; soothing against his flushed cheeks. Stefan makes a point of looking out over the street below them.

“You’ve probably given someone a heart attack down there. I can see tomorrow’s headline, _British backside stops traffic, Brian bares all on balcony!_ ”

Brian scoffs. “I’d be more concerned about someone seeing the pair of us like this, to be honest,” he retorts, giving Stefan a coy look.  

“Like what?” Stefan asks, leaning down to kiss him tenderly. Brian grins cheekily as he pulls away. His throat catches as he begins to speak, his swollen tonsils burning. He flicks his cigarette butt to the ground and slides out from under the sheet and Stefan’s arm. Stefan follows him back inside the room, slightly confused. Brian helps himself to a glass of water; the icy liquid relieves the pain in his raw throat for a moment.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he tells Stefan, handing him the empty tumbler.

“Stay here, use mine,” Stefan insists.

“Nah, you’ll get sick of me if I don’t leave you alone,” Brian says, half serious. He imagines Stefan sharing his bed with another man. He burns with jealousy but he tells himself to be rational; that it’s inevitable. _To focus on now and enjoy it for what it is._ Brian’s thoughts turn to Celeste; he remembers finding lingerie, not hers, in her ensuite. He recalls an unfamiliar floral scent on the pillow, and make-up stains that weren’t his. The threat of tears prickles his eyes; he blinks them away, praying that Stefan hasn’t noticed. The taller man watches him with a warm smile, willing him not to leave. Stefan wants to drag him back to bed, or better yet, into the bath. He considers the logistics of fitting the both of them into the tub; he decides that with his legs spread and knees bent, Brian would fit in snugly at one end. But before he can suggest his idea, Brian stretches up and pecks him on the cheek, in a sudden hurry to leave. Stefan slides the sheet from around his waist and wraps it around Brian’s shoulders.

“Don’t be long,” he calls as he leaves.


	9. Chapter 9

“Where the fuck have you two been!?” Steve shouts, grinning widely as he embraces his bandmates.

“We got lost,” Brian fibs, “Cab driver took us to the other end of the city.” Stefan shakes his head to indicate his indignation.

“Bastard!” Steve slurs.

“Never mind, we’re here now!”

The crew have filled the small pub; roadies mingle with the regulars, taking them up on games of pool and darts. The underground tavern is dimly lit and taxidermy lines the walls; the heads of various wild animals have been mounted and hang menacingly above the tables. Stefan spots a particularly aggressive looking boar amongst the deer and scoffs.

“Do you think they’ve ever been to an _actual_ English pub?”

Steve shakes his head, “It’s cool though, like a hunting lodge.”  

“It’s creepy!” Stefan says, turning away from the glass eyes glaring down at him. Brian glances up at them and shrugs.

“It’s kinda kitsch… but I say tacky more than anything-”

“Pfft, you know what it _is_? Lads, it’s your round!” Steve gestures to the empty cans and glasses and the other men at the table cheer.

“Fine, but one more round and we’re leaving,” Brian negotiates.

“What!? Why?” Steve asks, wide eyed.

“This place is a dump!”

“Listen, you two chose last night-”

“Where’d you go last night?” The sound engineer enquires. Brian and Stefan turn to Steve, looking amused. The drummer clears his throat.

“Ah, just this…”

“Fabulous gay bar,” Stefan completes the sentence for him and the table erupts with laughter. Steve rebuffs their jeers with a flick of his wrist and wink.

“You know, I saw some karaoke place on the way here,” the tour manager suggests, “Could be a laugh.” Brian groans but Stefan and Steve agree enthusiastically.

“But none of you fuckers can sing!” Brian whines melodramatically, his throat burning with the effort.

“And you can?” Someone kids; Brian flips them the bird.

“Hey now, none of us would be here if it weren’t for Brian’s angelic voice,” the tour manager teases; the singer rolls his eyes but feels smug.

“I’ll drink to that,” Steve says, “When you buy us some _bloody beers!_ ”

Stefan takes the hint and takes Brian by the shoulders, guiding him toward the bar. They join a short queue and Stefan wraps his arms loosely around Brian’s neck as they wait. The smaller man wriggles free from the embrace; Stefan feels insulted by the rejection.

“Not here,” Brian says, noting the hurt on his friend’s face. Stefan is silent; his advances had been rebuffed during the taxi trip there, but he had put that down to their experience with the homophobic cabbie earlier. This time he takes offence; he wants to kiss Brian just to spite him. He wants to cause a scene. He wants the world to know how he feels; he wants to flaunt it, celebrate it.

Most of all, he just wants Brian to acknowledge it.

But Brian’s attention is focused elsewhere entirely. A group of men have gathered at the bar to watch as a busty barmaid cracks open cans of cheap beer. She then lines them up along the counter, pausing to slowly suck foam from her fingers. The men each grab a can and skol the contents; the first to finish wedges the empty can in her cleavage. Stefan watches on with mouth agape as she squeezes her breasts together and crushes the aluminium can in one quick motion.

“Did you see that!?” Steve shouts, “I fucking love this country!” He races up behind them and wraps his bandmates up in a tight hug. Brian cackles and Stefan forces a smile. They move toward the bar as the other group disperses; Steve releases his hold on them but leaves his arms hanging around their shoulders. “Beer,” Steve says to the barmaid, staggering forward and forcing the others to support his weight.

“Two jugs,” Brian adds, glancing at the enormous pitchers and roughly estimating the number of men waiting back at the table.

 _“Two jugs_!”Steve snickers and the barmaid rolls her eyes as she pours the amber liquid.

“Thanks,” Stefan says, handing over a fifty dollar note. Brian takes one jug of beer and leads Steve unsteadily back toward their table. Stefan waits for his change then takes the other jug over.  The rest of the group joins them and each man fills his glass.

“Placebo!” Someone shouts and the others repeat the cry, raising their glasses to toast the band. Glasses clink loudly and beer sloshes across the table. Steve is the first to slam down his empty schooner; he belches loudly.

“Karaoke?” He suggests with drunken enthusiasm. A few others shake their heads but most of the group looks eager. Brian grimaces but soon succumbs to the drummer’s pleading.

“ _Fine_ ,” he says and the table erupts into roars of excitement. The tour manager leads the group from the bar and Stefan glances back up at the wall. A huge stag’s head dominates the display, its pointed antlers casting ominous shadows across the room. Stefan jumps as he feels something brush against his hand; Brian looks up at him sheepishly, lacing his fingers around Stefan’s.

“Not here,” Stefan says bitterly, snatching his hand away and striding quickly toward the door. He notices how Brian’s face falls and his heart aches with guilt. He wants to turn back and take Brian’s hand, apologise for being so petty. He wants to see that shy smile spread across his friend’s face as he squeezes his hand tight. Stefan stops in the stairwell and glances back down at Brian.

“Stef…”

The singer rushes to catch up to him.

“I’m sorry, y’know I didn’t mean-”

“Yeah, I know,” Stefan doesn’t pull away this time; he caresses Brian’s fingers gently. He looks up the staircase to check that they are alone before leaning down and kissing him quickly on the mouth. Standing on the step above him, Stefan towers over him. His grip on Brian’s hand tightens; he licks his lips and takes a deep breath. 

“I l-”

“I know,” Brian says, quick to cut Stefan off. He’s too sober to handle such an admission; and still too unsure of his own feelings to return the sentiment. He squeezes Stefan’s hand back and smiles up at him, hoping that his friend understands. Stefan turns and leads them up the stairs; his face is flushed with embarrassment, but he feels more hopeful than regretful. Brian wishes he could honestly tell Stefan the same; he clutches his hand tightly as they reach the top of the staircase and join the rest of the group out on the street.

Steve staggers toward them, looking surprised to see the pair.

“Karaoke!” He shouts, providing enough enthusiasm for the three of them. Brian takes his hand and the trio walk slowly into the night, trailing the others.

 

***

_“_ And I ain't down here for your money, I ain't down here for your love, I ain't down here for your love of money…” Steve stumbles forward, the microphone cord twisted around him. He kicks the table, nearly sending a tray of shot glasses crashing to the floor. The minimal electronic score is hardly recognisable but Steve howls convincingly into the mic.

“ _I'm down here for your soouulll…”_

He raises his arms triumphantly, dropping the microphone. The rest of the group cheers; while only a handful of the crew remain, they roar encouragement. The karaoke club is spilt into several small rooms, each with a television and booths seated around a small table. The group of 12 men has been whittled down to 7; Brian, Stefan, Steve, their sound engineer, tour manager and two roadies remain. Stefan flicks through a glossy book, squinting as he tries to read song titles; the only light in the room is the glow emitted by the television. His repertoire of 80’s one-hit-wonders has so far gone unappreciated, but he thinks his Samantha Fox cover was half decent. Brian sits close beside him, peering at the song choices. He has turned down each offer at the microphone but following the last round of vodka shots, he almost feels ready to belt out his old favourite, Total Eclipse of the Heart.

Steve struggles to untangle himself, cursing as he trips on the lead around his leg. The microphone swings close to the television set; piercing feedback blares from the speakers. He finally frees himself and plops down beside Brian, passing him the mic. He grins as he takes it, but doesn’t stand. He nudges Stefan and points to the song title; the bassist slowly types numbers into the remote, then hits enter. Brian leans against him, holding the microphone between them.

“Turn around,” Stefan struggles to keep a straight face as he sings.

“Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never coming round,” Brian stares up at him with huge eyes and a serious expression.

“Turn around,” the Swede breaks into a fit of giggles.

“Every now and then I get-” Brian hiccups and Stefan laughs harder, “-bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears.”

Stefan misses his cue but Brian stands and continues singing passionately. He takes a second mic from under the TV and passes it over the table to his bandmate.  He doesn’t face the screen; he knows the words by heart. Steve drums his hands on the table as the chorus plays.

"And I need you now tonight, and I need you more than _everrr,”_ Brian tosses his head dramatically, closing his eyes as he sings with gusto. The rest of the group joins in and the sound engineer shakes a plastic tambourine. The singer swings his arms about and stomps, belting out the words in his best power ballad impersonation. The group sings harmonies as the song comes into to the close; Stefan’s back-up vocals are loud and mistimed.  Brian falls to his knees, his head thrown back.

_"A total eclipse of the hearrrtttttt!”_

The group cheers his performance and he takes a little bow as he stands. At that moment, the door swings open and the club manager reminds them, again, that they’re closing. Steve opens his wallet but the woman shakes her head.

“Five minutes,” she warns, looking stern.

Brian waits for her to leave before moving back to his seat; he wobbles as he walks and Stefan reaches out to take his arm. He drops his microphone down onto the table and turns to the bassist.

“I don’t believe we’ve had any ABBA yet tonight, Stefan?”

The Swede grins and glances down at the songbook, sliding his finger down the page through the titles.

“Don’t bother, we all know what you’re going to pick,” Steve teases, and the other laugh. Stefan punches in the numbers and synthetic music blasts out of the speakers. Steve picks up the second mic and encourages the group to sing the harmony; Brian watches with delight as Stefan beams.

They all take up the chorus, “You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life.” Brian shoves Stefan, and he stands, moving to the front of the room. “See that _boy_ , watch that scene, diggin' the dancing queen.”

Stefan launches into the song with heartfelt enthusiasm, swaying as he sings.

“Friday night and the lights are low…”

The other men all join in; clapping, singing and shouting. Stefan picks up the plastic instrument, shaking it to the electronic drum beat.

“Dancing queen, feel the beat from the _tambouriiiine_ , oh yeah!”  

He finishes with a flourish, shaking the toy instrument high above his head; Steve taps out a drum roll, others stomp. Brian applauds, grinning up at his lover with drunken admiration. The TV screen goes blank and the men reluctantly rise, moving slowly for the door. Brian sidles up to the bassist, sliding his hand into Stefan’s. Stefan squeezes it tightly; he wonders if he can give Brian a kiss without raising suspicion. Ignoring his inhibitions, he swoops down and pecks him on the cheek; Brian stares up at him, wide eyed. He leans back down and catches Brian’s mouth with his own, sucking gently on his lower lip. The smaller man smiles shyly, feeling giddy with excitement. No one else seems to notice, perhaps due to darkness or their drunkenness. Brian weaves his fingers between Stefan’s and swings his arm as they exit the room. The pair follows the group through the building, and out into the street; both men brim with adoration.


	10. Chapter 10

A full moon lights up the night sky, bathing the cityscape in its ghostly glow. The streets are eerily calm, but for the presence of three men. After being kicked out of the karaoke club the group had moved further down the street, bar hoping until only the core band members were left standing. Steve has ducked into alley to relieve himself and Stefan hums loudly to drown out the sound.

“Urgh, not that stupid song again!” Brian whines, shoving him playfully.

“ _This is the night, this is the time, we've got to get it riiight_!” Stefan moves in front of the smaller man, singing in shaky falsetto.

“Shut up!”

“ _Touch me, touch meee!”_

“No!”

“ _I wanna feel your bo-”_ Brian muffles him by clamping a hand over his mouth. Stefan blows a raspberry on his palm and Brian pulls away with mock repulsion.

“God knows what disgusting things you’ve had in there,” he teases, wiping his hand on his jeans.

“All manner of filth,” Stefan says, sticking his tongue back out. Brian raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Hey Brian,” Stefan says in a low voice, wrapping his arms around the smaller man, his mouth against his ear. “ _Touch me nooowwwww_!” Brian giggles and pushes him away.

“Seriously though, we should cover that,” Stefan suggests with inebriated enthusiasm.

“Fuck off!” Brian shouts, dismissing the ludicrous suggestion.

“We could!”

“We _will not_. I’m not singing that shit.”

“Maybe _I’ll_ sing it then!” Stefan says and Brian scoffs.

“Yeah, you and Samantha Fox, in matching bikinis, I’d pay to see that!”

“Oof, Samantha Fox…” Steve slurs, “Shit yeah, let’s do it.” His return startles the pair; Stefan had half forgotten Steve was still with them. He laughs heartily at the drummer’s comment.

“Majority rules,” he tells Brian, gloating. The singer gives him a petulant look; Stefan knows he’s beat.

“Save it for your solo project,” Brian jokes. He shoves Stefan forward and the men continue to stumble down the street.

“Are you kicking me out of the band then?” Stefan asks. Brian pulls a cigarette pack from his pocket; sticks one in his mouth and then lights in one swift motion. He’s well practised enough to perform the action seamlessly in any state of intoxication. He fills his chest with the thick smoke, spluttering as he exhales. His raw throat burns with the effort but he tries to ignore the pain.

“Nah,” he croaks, “It’s drummers that are disposable; a dime a dozen,” he teases. Stefan snorts but Steve doesn’t react, he staggers ahead of them, concerned only with finding his bed and passing out in it. They turn into a main street and Stefan thinks he recognises it.

“Down here, right?” He asks, motioning to the right. Steve turns the corner and continues in the opposite direction. Brian shrugs and follows him, giggling as he takes Stefan’s hand and leads him down the footpath.

Stefan strokes Brian’s fingers lightly with his own before weaving them together. They trail behind Steve, watching each other with giddy smiles. From the corner of his eye Stefan catches their reflection in a shop window; _we look good together_ , he thinks smugly. Ironic as it is, he seems taller; he stands straighter, his shoulders squared and chest swelled with pride and poise. They reach the end of the block and Steve turns around to face the couple, utterly confused.

“But…?” He starts, gesturing to the corner he had thought the hotel was on.

“C’mon,” Brian says, flicking his cigarette butt into the gutter, “This way.” They turn back and amble along until they reach the same intersection. This time they take a right. Further down the street Stefan spots the gaudy architecture of the hotel complex; he releases a small sigh of relief.

The men are somewhat subdued; the stillness of the night has silenced them. Brian pauses to admire dresses in a store window; he pulls away from Stefan and holds his hands to the glass, peering in. Stefan shivers, and wraps his arms around himself. Steve continues without them, zig-zagging down the sidewalk; his face set in a frown, a picture of drunken determination.  Brian steps back from the window, a patch of condensation left by his breath fogs the glass.

“Anything tickle your fancy?” Stefan asks, clasping his hand.

“There’s a John Richmond I rather like, but I don’t think it would do much for my shoulders.”

“The black one?” Stefan guesses.

“Obviously.”

They cross the road and head inside the hotel lobby. The foyer is empty, but bright and warm. A receptionist appears, alerted to their arrival by a motion sensor.

“Good morning gentlemen,” he greets them, clearly not feeling the sentiment. “May I enquire, are you returning guests or do you have a reservation?” The group stare blankly at him before Stefan finally thinks to pull out his key card, flashing it at him.

“Room four oh five,” he mutters. The man behind the desk glances down at a computer screen and hits a few keys.

“Oh, of course, guests of Mr. Chapman. Wonderful to have you back,” his monotone enthusiasm fools no one. “We have actually taken a series of phone calls for a Mr Brian… Molko?” Brian cocks his head, and then steps forward. The receptionist shuffles through a pile of notes, his frown deepening. “I see,” he says to himself, “I’m afraid the caller instructed us to only to have you call back, but I seem to have misplaced the number, I’ll-”

“Never mind, I’ll come get the details in the morning,” Brian says with a wave of his hand. The last thing he wants to do now is return the calls of some label bigwig, or have Alex tell him their next list of press spots. He wants Stefan’s arms around him, his breath warm on his neck and kisses soft on his back.

“I am so sorry,” the receptionist says with a hint of emotion in his voice. He grows more flustered as he rifles through the papers, “If you would just wait one more moment, I’m sure I’ll-”

“It can wait,” Brian says, meaning to join Steve, waiting for them at the elevator door.

“I was instructed that it was urgent,” the receptionist admits guiltily, “Would it be alright if I transferred any more calls for you straight to your room?” _Alex must be pissed, what have we done now,_ Brian wonders.

“Yeah, sure, fine,” he agrees, knowing full well he won’t be spending the night in _his_ room. Stefan’s mind clicks through the possible suspects trying to reach Brian; _surely Alex would know better_. Perhaps his parents were calling, or maybe a label executive. Most likely a journalist, desperate to catch them before they fly out tomorrow. _That must be it_ , Stefan reassures himself, otherwise they would have left a message; _some sneaky journo, or a fan even, has probably been calling every major hotel in the city and leaving the same message. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened and it certainly won’t be the last_. They join Steve in the lift and Brian leans onto Stefan as they lurch upward, coyly stroking his hand. He knows Steve won’t think anything of it but he is still wary of any public displays of affection.  

They exit onto their floor and Steve mumbles as he drags his feet forward, heading straight for his room but stopping at Brian’s door by mistake. He tries his keycard unsuccessfully, jamming it repeatedly into the slot, his frustration growing.

“Next door,” Stefan offers and Steve waves as he moves along; unlocking his door and slipping inside without another word. Brian stumbles backward, leaning against the wall and pulling the taller man toward him. He reaches up and sinks his mouth onto Stefan’s, the sharp taste of vodka on his lips. Stefan presses himself hard against him, desperate to feel Brian’s body beneath his after what feels like an eternity without the contact. He slides his hands up Brian’s shirt; the smaller man gasps as Stefan’s icy fingertips trace the warm skin beneath.

“Fuck me,” Brian demands, his voice raspy. Stefan looks down at him with an eyebrow raised.

“What, _here?_ ”

The singer giggles.

“ _No!_ ” He glances left and right, the hallway is silent. They may as well be the only two in the building; the idea begins to appeal to him. “Well, actually…” Stefan considers the suggestion for a moment. His hands rest around Brian’s waist, his fingers tightening around the soft flesh as he imagines his lover’s legs around him, his whimpers as he slides slowly in and out of him.

“Forever the exhibitionist, eh?” Stefan says, shaking his head.

“Didn’t hear you complaining on stage earlier,” Brian teases, tracing a finger down Stefan’s chest. The bassist grins and skims his hands downward, edging the hem of Brian’s jeans. He leans down to kiss him, moaning into his lover’s mouth as Brian rubs his hand against his crotch. A trill ringing cuts into the silence; Stefan pulls away from Brian and focuses on the sound.

_Ring ring, ring ring_. He glances down the hallway, then back to Brian.

“Your phone,” he says, pointing out the obvious. He hesitates as he moves his hands from Brian’s hips. The other man holds his grip as the phone rings again.

“I don’t care.”

“What if it’s important?” Brian rolls his eyes. “Just answer it,” Stefan says, taking a step backwards. Brian pouts up at him, thinking that if he stalls long enough the caller will give up.

“Go,” Stefan prompts, taking Brian by the shoulders and pushing him along.

“Stefff…” The ringing sounds out again, Stefan begins to feel anxious about waking up other guests.

“I’ll be in here,” he says, unlocking his door, “Waiting for the good news.” He steps inside and leaves Brian sulking in the hallway. The singer pulls a face as he closes the door and trudges reluctantly to his room. _Ring ring, ring ring;_ the phone greets him impatiently as he opens the door. He flops down onto the bed and picks up the receiver, answering with blatant disinterest.

“What?”

The line sounds scratchy; he hears a shaky breath being drawn by the caller.

“ _Hello?_ ” The same breathing in response; he wonders if some crazed fan has tracked him down. He is ready to hang up when a small voice answers.

“Brian?”

His heart skips a beat; _it can’t be_.

“ _Celeste_?!”

“Hello,” he can hear the smile in her voice and it fills his stomach with butterflies. He is left uncharacteristically speechless. “Are you there?”

“I… yeah.” It must be early evening in Paris; he pictures her sitting in the box window of her apartment, the light of the setting sun casting a soft glow around her.

“How are you?” She asks; she sounds nervous and he imagines her twirling the phone cord around her fingers in spirals.

“I’m… I’m pretty sick, actually.”

“I was worried; I heard you cancelled a show,” the warmth in her voice makes him want to weep. He knows he should be bitter but her sympathy is a salve to his wounded feelings.

“I just need a rest.” He sighs. “It’s been a long week, y’know?”

“I know, I’m sorry, Bri. I shouldn’t have…” Brian holds his breath while she searches for the right words, “I wish I could take it back, it was stupid of me… Of course there was nothing between you and Stefan.”

The words hit him like a blow to the chest; he struggles to suck air into his lungs.

“Brian?” He runs his hand through his greasy hair, struggling to think of what to say next. _She wants me back_ ; he should be overjoyed he instead he churns with guilt.

“So, you two _are_ fucking.” Celeste guesses; the joy fades from her voice.

“I, we-”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“It’s not what you think.” Celeste says nothing. “Something happened yesterday, I didn’t realise, but Stef-”

“He’s in love with you.”

Her anger has faded; she now speaks softly, her voice laden with regret.

“You knew,” Brian says, equally subdued.

“I-” Her voice cracks, “I didn’t think you would-” Brian sighs.

“Celeste, I never planned for this to happen, but now that it has…” He knows there is no point lying to her. “I like him, sure, he’s one of my best friends. But,” He feels as if he is betraying the both of them, “But, at this stage… it’s nothing serious.”

“Do you still feel the same way about me?” Celeste asks in French; she struggles to keep the quaver from her voice. Brian rubs his temples with his thumb and middle finger, willing clarity and sobriety upon himself.

“Yeah,” he finally admits, a queasy feeling stirring in his stomach. He braces himself for her response.

“Can we try again?” He doesn’t know how to respond, what he wants; _who_ he wants.

 “I, I’m going to be home tomorrow, I can come see you in a few days, we can talk about it then-” Celeste cuts off his ramble.

“I don’t mind if you keep seeing Stefan,” her voice is clearer, she seems more self-assured.

“You _what_?”

“You were the one who wanted to make things exclusive between us, I was happy the way it was.”

“ _Happy_? This all happened because you thought I was shagging Stefan!”

Though he tries to stay calm there is an edge of anger to Brian’s reply. Celeste sighs.

“To be honest, I didn’t think I could compete with him. But now I realise it doesn’t have to be a competition. If you still care for me, I don’t mind.”

Brian doesn’t know how to respond, he can’t do this over the phone. He needs to see her, hold her; look deep into her green eyes and hear those same words again to confirm that this is really happening. But now that he has the chance, he can’t bear to turn her down.

“Okay,” he says simply. Celeste laughs.

“You don’t sound particularly excited?”

“I am, baby, I just..." Brian sighs. "I’m drunk and sick and utterly exhausted. I didn’t expect any of this to happen tonight, or _ever_. I’ve been so mad at you, mad at myself…” He can’t help but wonder if he’s done the right thing; surely he should feel elated, not conflicted. 

“I’m sorry,” her voice has taken on a rich velvety tone; it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, “I’ve missed you.” Brian gulps. “I’ve missed your hands, your mouth,” she purrs, prompting him.

“I’ve missed you too,” he says, and though he means it, he still feels confused. A giggle bounces down the phone line.

“That's all!? Oh, honey, you really must be sick!” Celeste sighs, but seems content. “Call me tomorrow? I’ll be back home by then.” He wonders where she is now, he should ask but he just wants to get off the phone and let the news sink in.

“Of course, talk to you then,” he tells her.

“Good night.”

“Good night,” Brian repeats, trying to ignore his unease.

"Bye."

" _Bye_ ," Brian echoes, not in the mood for this game. 

"Prends soin de toi," Celeste says, her tone more sincere. 

"À la prochaine," he says softly. He waits to hear the line go dead, hoping she will be the first to hang up. The receiver clicks and he releases a deep sigh, hanging up his phone. He rubs his eyes with his palms then runs his fingers slowly through his hair, trying to lift the numb fog from his mind. He should be filled with joy, _isn’t this what I’ve hoped for this last week?_   He tries to blame his disconcertion on his drunken state; he groans, knowing full well that he’s doubting himself because of Stefan. He slumps on the bed, rolls over, then back again. He sits up and reaches for his satchel; he pulls out his papers but finds a joint he must have rolled earlier. He snatches it and his lighter up, praising himself for his forethought, and heads for the glass door on the other side of the room.

He steps gingerly out onto the balcony, sliding the door shut behind him to keep the icy breeze from entering the room. He looks out over Sydney; the harbour sparkles prettily with reflections of city lights in the water. The sea looks calm; he thinks back to the storm he and Stefan were caught in the night before and cringes. Brian leans back against the door behind him, sliding down slowly to sit on the cool concrete. The cold glass is hard against his back but the chill it sends down his spine feels good. He lights the joint and sucks deeply, his chest swelling and burning. He coughs as he exhales, but takes another quick toke. His head spins; he closes his eyes and focuses on the smell of salt in the air, the distant sound of waves. He fidgets with his free hand, his fingers wrap around his necklace. He twirls the crucifix, twisting the chain, and wonders what Stefan is doing; _maybe he’s asleep_ , _maybe this can wait until tomorrow._ Brian takes another drag, and attempts to dissect the cluttered thoughts in his mind. He disregards the potential for hurt feelings and band drama and reaches a simple conclusion. _Celeste likes me, and I like her. Stef likes me, and I like him_. _So I keep seeing the both of them_. It seems straightforward, a logical solution; everyone wins.

Brian takes one last puff then butts the joint out on the concrete beside him. He convinces himself of his composure and musters the nerve to visit his friend in the next room.


	11. Chapter 11

Stefan lies in his bed, head resting on an arm folded behind him. The room is lit only by the bedside lamp; the shade is aimed away from the bed, the yellow light pools on the floor. Stefan had meant to get undressed, wash his face and brush his teeth before Brian returned. He had set a few things on the bedside table and then had lain down, intending to relax just a moment. The soft mattress beneath him and the influence of alcohol has slowly lulled him toward sleep. He dozes lightly, drifting in and out of consciousness. He rubs himself lazily with one hand, imagining Brian beside him, inside him…

“Stef…”

 He wakes with a start, blinking as he glances toward the door. Brian stands before him; he motions for him to join him on the bed. Brian kicks off his shoes and climbs onto the mattress. He lies down beside Stefan, not feeling he can touch him, but the Swede rolls over and wraps his arm around him, pulling him closer.

“Stef,” Brian isn’t sure what to say, he snuggles in closer, realising this embrace may be their last.

“Missed you,” Stefan mumbles, his face close to Brian’s.

“Stef, the phone call, it…” Drowsiness clouds Stefan’s mind, it takes him a moment to remember that Brian had left to answer his phone.

“Alex?”

“No-”

“Virgin, then?”

“No, Stef-”

“Someone died?”

“Stefan! _No-_ ”

“Good, I was worried,” Stefan nuzzles in against the crook of Brian’s neck, his hand moves up his thigh. “You high?” He asks, smelling pot on him.

“No... Yeah, a little.”

Brian sighs _, maybe now isn’t the right time to tell him_. Stefan fumbles with his fly and against his better judgement Brian doesn’t stop him; he arches up as his lover’s hand slides beneath the waistband of his jeans. Stefan pulls down his jeans just enough to expose his penis and begins to stroke him. Brian moans softly; the uneasy thoughts remain, but just as niggles at the back of his mind. Everything feels good; the bed beneath him, Stefan’s body beside him, his hand on his dick. Brian reaches over and traces the shape of Stefan’s erection through his trousers. The bassist presses his mouth against Brian’s, kissing him lazily. Brian melts into the kiss; he slides his hand down to unzip Stefan’s fly, wanting to feel more of him. He slips his hand inside his trousers and wraps his fist around Stefan’s cock. Stefan moans into their kiss, a growl vibrating up through his throat. The reaction stirs Brian; he deepens his kisses and strokes Stefan faster. He wants to make him feel good; he needs it more than anything right now.

Though his body still feels drunk and heavy with the weight of sleepiness, Stefan’s mind is acutely aware of his needs. He matches Brian’s pace; concentrating on the way the smaller man rocks his body, the pressure of his lips and his tongue in his mouth. Brian’s kisses are fuelled by desperation; his little whimpers of pleasure fill Stefan with burning desire. He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips brushing Stefan’s as he does.

“Please.”

Stefan leans back, taking in Brian’s intense expression, his huge eyes pleading. He rolls over and takes a tube from the nightstand; he turns back to face Brian, smiling softly, before rising to his knees. Stefan grabs Brian by the hips.

“Turn over,” he commands, his mouth against Brian’s ear as he guides him onto all-fours. He feels Stefan’s hands slide up his back, his lips against his neck; his teeth graze his flesh. Stefan moves downwards, trailing soft kisses along his spine; Brian shivers at the sensation. Stefan cups his behind with his hands, massaging as he presses his lips to the small of his back. He continues planting kisses and Brian arches up, moulding to his touch. He dips his back when Stefan moves lower; his hands firm on his backside as he his rims Brian. The smaller man gasps as Stefan’s flicks his tongue inside him. Stefan pulls back and slaps his arse lightly as he reaches for the lube; Brian grinds himself against him. He rolls the tube quickly between his hands, attempting to warm the liquid, before pouring it out into his palm. He coats two fingers and moves his hand under Brian, teasing his sensitive skin below. He drags his fingers upwards and slides them inside him, moving back and forth slowly. Brian stretches forward, his fingers clasping at the bunched bedcovers.

“Just fuck me,” he demands.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Stefan murmurs, working him slowly.

“You won’t,” Brian says softly. Stefan pulls his fingers out, and reaches over to grab a condom from the nightstand. He slides it on then tips more lube into his hand, coating himself in the cool liquid. He leans over Brian, lining himself up with his hole and reaching around to take his penis in his hand. He strokes him roughly as he thrusts inside; Brian cries out, hanging his head as he moans loudly. Stefan reaches forward to take a fistful of his hair, pulling his head up, drawing his body closer; Brian moans again. As he yanks again he unknowingly twists the chain around Brian’s neck; the links break under the pressure and as Stefan releases his grip the necklace slides off, slipping down amongst the bedcovers. Stefan slides his hand downward, grasping Brian’s waist and pushing into him with long, deep movements. His skin slaps against the other man’s; each time their bodies meet he drives in harder, pulling his lover’s hips back to meet his. Brian’s rocks himself to meet his moments; he wants to feel all of Stefan inside him. Stefan grunts, his head thrown back as he slams himself into the smaller man. He strokes Brian faster, tightening his grip as he nears climax. Brian’s head lolls with the motion, his hair hangs over his eyes, sweat dripping from his damp locks. His lashes flutter, eyes rolling as he is propelled toward orgasm. He gasps as he releases, his back curving as body clenches. Stefan burries himself inside Brian; his insides tighten and pulse, pushing Stefan over the edge. He comes without a making a sound; nails digging deep into Brian’s hip as he releases. He falls onto the smaller man, pulling out slowly as to not make him uncomfortable. Brian stretches out beneath him, exhausted. They collapse, sprawling across the bed; Stefan wants to hold Brian but he pulls away. They both lie panting, gasping to catch their breath. Stefan sidles up to Brian, brushing a bruise at the base of his neck. He walks his fingers downward to trace the notches in his spine; trailing up and down Brian’s back, his skin damp with perspiration. The smaller man shivers, wanting to shift away from the contact, hoping Stefan will soon fall asleep. He wants to get up and have a smoke, or creep back into his own room; he can’t face Stefan now.

“Bri, are you okay?” Stefan asks, concerned, “Did I hurt you?”

 _No, but I’m about to hurt you_ , Brian supposes self-depreciatingly.

“I have to tell you something,” he mutters, biting the bullet. He doesn’t turn around; he doesn’t want to see Stefan’s face. The bassist says nothing, he laces his fingers through his hair; Brian wants to slap his hand away. He takes a deep breath; he wishes he had a cigarette, a joint, something to focus on.

“The phone call, it was Celeste.”

Stefan lets the lock of hair fall, he shifts uncomfortably. His stomach fills with dread, a wave of nausea washes over him. Brian curls into himself, he can’t bear to turn around.

“She wants to try again,” he says in a tiny voice.

Stefan’s mouth is pressed into a tight line; he bites back anger, blinks back tears. He stands but isn’t sure where he’s going. Brian has curled himself into a ball, trying to disappear altogether.

“I do too.”

The words are a whisper but their meaning rings in Stefan’s ears, a cymbal crash that spins his head.   

Stefan glances toward the door but he doesn’t think he should be the one to leave. He pulls on his trousers and strides toward the balcony, slamming the glass door behind him. Brian tucks his head beneath his arm; he clamps his eyes shut but tears still escape. His hands are balled up into fists, he want hit something, someone. Stefan, or perhaps Celeste; mostly just himself. He wants to pound the wall, feel his fist sink through the plaster, or smash the window; shatter the glass and feel the shards embedded in his skin. He strikes the mattress weakly; his body trembles as he sobs.

Stefan lights a cigarette with shaking hands; he leans limply against the railing. He feels completely drained of energy, of joy. He imagines Brian on the phone next door, beaming as speaks to Celeste. Lying back and touching himself as she tells him how much she’s missed him. Brian laughing huskily and telling her in French all the dirty things he’ll do to her. _Then coming next door to get off, or was it just pity sex?_ Stefan wonders miserably; _one of his mind games, maybe_. He shivers, rubbing his arms as an icy breeze sweeps past him. Goosebumps ripple across his skin. He refuses to return to the warmth of his room until he knows Brian has left. He brings his cigarette to his lips and sucks fruitlessly; the ember has died and Stefan struggles to relight it as the cold wind rushes around him. He gazes out over the harbour as he exhales a steady stream of smoke; the sky is dark with cloud cover, the moon and stars hidden behind it. The ocean looks choppy; waves peak and roll, surging toward the port. He tries to push thoughts of the previous night to the back of his mind but is unsuccessful. His memory is rich with the details; he recalls Brian, beautiful and dripping wet, luring him into the ocean like a siren. Stefan scoffs bitterly. He wonders again just _what_ it is about his friend that captivates him, but the though hurts him too much to dwell on. He hears a creak from behind him and turns to face Brian. The singer wears one of his old t-shirts; it fits him like a dress. The sight makes Stefan furious; he wants to rip the garment from him and force him to leave. But he also wants to hold him tight, kiss the top of his head and bundle him back to bed. This image should be reserved for a lazy Sunday morning, the pair of them sipping coffee and smoking in his kitchen. He looks childlike in the too-big t-shirt; he wipes tears from his eyes for added effect. Stefan doesn’t move, he can’t decide how to react.

“I don’t want this to end,” Brian rasps and Stefan has to hold onto the railing to keep from throwing himself at the smaller man. He draws on his cigarette, trying to maintain an air of indifference. Brian dares to take a step toward him.

“I-I know how you feel about me, I…” Brian sniffs, his eyes downcast. Stefan’s heart is in his throat. “I care about you Stef, I… I l-” He clenches his fists and gulps. “-I really like you, I like this, _us._ ” He glances up; his eyes are red and puffy. Stefan can no longer hold back, he steps forward and scoops Brian up in his arms. The smaller man shakes, his body racked with sobs.

“I don’t know how to make this work,” he says through tears. Stefan strokes his hair; he still doesn’t know what to say, but he knows where he stands. He grimaces with the realisation. He knows that if he accepts he’ll always come second best; he’ll be the something on the side. He’ll be nothing more than a plaything, a friend with benefits; a secret for the both of them to keep. He also knows he can’t say no; he’ll take whatever scraps of affection Brian offers, and he’ll still love him for it.

“I don’t want this to end, either,” Stefan says finally. Brian pulls away slightly to look up at him, his eyes wide with surprise. He searches Stefan’s face for regret, or anger. He looks calm; he has accepted their unspoken arrangement. Stefan turns away to watch over the ocean; Brian shivers against him as drizzle falls. The light rain is bitter against his bare skin but he can’t bring himself to move inside just yet. Puddles form on the balcony, the pitter-patter of raindrops falling echoes around them. The droplets grow, splashing to earth with loud splatters. The sea stirs, lashing waves hiss and surge. Brian can’t stand the cold any longer; he leads Stefan inside and the pair climb into bed. He sinks back into Stefan’s arms, his head against his chest. His skin is icy cold but Brian nestles into his embrace. Stefan pulls the bedcovers over them; he tries to block the gnawing thoughts from his mind, focussing on the warmth washing over him and Brian’s rattled breathing. He drifts off into a restless sleep, his arms wrapped tight around his lover in a vain attempt to keep him from ever leaving.

***

Daybreak casts a pale light across the cityscape, fog hangs low and the morning air is thick with precipitation. The soft glow creeps into Stefan’s room, stirring him from his light slumber. He stretches as he wakes, his fingers meeting something cool tangled in the sheets. He clasps the silver chain in his fist, dragging his arm across the bed, searching for another body to hold. Stefan blinks his eyes open; he is alone in the large bed. He rolls over to the other side of the mattress, burying his face in Brian’s pillow.The scent fills him with melancholy; he holds himself tightly, clutching the necklace to his chest. He pushes images of his lover from his mind and wills himself to fall back into a dreamless sleep.

 _This is what you wanted,_ he reminds himself; _this is all you're ever gonna get._

The glass door from the balcony slides open and shut, the rollers scuffing. Footsteps pad lightly across the room, then return to the other side of the bed. Brian slips beneath the covers, shivering. He edges toward the other man, unsure if he’s awake.

“You came back.”  

“Yeah,” Brian sighs; the disbelief in his friend’s voice fills him guilt. Stefan pulls him closer and holds him tight; Brian curls in against him, wanting to close the space between them. He rests his head against Stefan’s chest, concentrating on the sound of his heartbeat. Brian’s hair is cool and damp against Stefan's skin; he weaves his fingers through his locks, stroking gently. The smaller man relaxes into his embrace, warmed by his body heat. Stefan inhales deeply; Brian’s presence is intoxicating, his own personal petrichor. They each feel themselves sinking into the other; a dissolving sensation as they drift off; their bodies moulding, merging; like rain to sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've never written 50,000 words on anything in my life... and then I go and write this... thing.  
> I hope this ending isn't entirely unsatisfying; it has been rewritten endless times and could change again on a whim, haha. 
> 
> Thanks again to Afueras for encouraging me to finish this after having let it sit on my computer for months and months. 
> 
> I do actually have plans for a sequel so prepare yourself for more heavy-handed weather metaphors ~


End file.
